


Two Sides, One Coin

by worldsaway



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldsaway/pseuds/worldsaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Apparently, according to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. But, fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, forcing them to spend their lives searching for their other halves. Apparently."</p>
<p>"Well, I think I might have found mine, Apollo…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't read the photos, here's the link for what the texts say...  
> http://hazelamcdowall.tumblr.com/private/59709126936/tumblr_msb9k6Iqge1qcol24

The door of a flat opened and closed, the art student living there locking it behind him before padding swiftly down the stairs leading onto the Parisian street which soon would be busy with work-goers and students alike. Grantaire pulled his too thin jumper more tightly around himself, then tugged a faded maroon hat onto his matted black curls to combat the unexpectedly biting cold.

It was a very crisp September morning, and Grantaire was late hence his rushing to the tube station at the end of his street. The weather had seemed promising when he’d drawn the curtains half an hour ago, so he’d left his leather jacket slung over the couch. This he now regretted. At least the train would be warm.

Hopping onto the very last possible tube that would ensure he wouldn’t be late for class again - it was only his third week after all, and he did want to at least try for a good-ish impression - he shoved in his earphones and turned the volume up high.

The train seemed surprisingly empty for eight am on a Wednesday morning, but the young art student decided not to complain, as it meant he managed to find a usually rare seat. He loved the Parisian underground, always had done - almost as much as he loved people watching. It was an off day if he didn’t catch the eye of at least one mysteriously handsome stranger, much to the amusement – but lately annoyance - of his friends. This morning was proving different so far though Grantaire thought to himself as the old woman a few seats along shot him a disapproving glance. He raised his eyebrows and let out a fleeting sigh before sinking back in his seat. This was the part of train journeys he loved most; closing his eyes, music blaring, and just relaxing, usually until he fell asleep causing him to miss his stops several times. For Grantaire this was starting to be a regular occurrence.

The first stop from his street to the university road always involved the train ending up more packed than it already was, but today was not the case. Mostly due to him missing his normal train and having to catch a later one. He opened his eyes sleepily to see who would get on today; one man, but not even into Grantaire’s carriage. The art student closed his eyes again, folding his arms across himself.

When the doors opened at the next stop, the art student didn’t even think to acknowledge the passengers that may or may not have entered, he wouldn’t know, until one of them sat directly opposite him and he heard a bag thump down on the seat. Then he really couldn’t help it.

Grantaire’s mouth fell open, embarrassingly, as the - he could think of no other word than “wow" - man adjusted a tightly fitted jacket and swept perfect golden curls from his breath-taking face. His icy blue eyes snapped up and met Grantaire’s momentarily, and the dark haired man - realising that he may have been staring slightly – looked down at his feet quickly, colour flushing to his cheeks.

In a flash of still cold fingers, he whipped out his phone and tapped out a message.

He grinned to himself, noticing the stranger now reading a book in his peripheral vision. He considered asking his name, basically searching for a way to start a conversation in any way possible. The man’s exquisite appearance had ruled out the worrying of sounding creepy in Grantaire’s brain. Seconds later though, his phone buzzed.

Despite his best friend’s unenthusiastic response, he persisted.

He paused, allowing himself another brief glance at his possible future lover (he definitely hadn’t imagined it, not at all) as he rubbed his scruffle-covered cheek, and again was caught off guard as he found himself greeted with a confused, even concerned, look. Even with his brows furrowed the man remained flawless; long eyelashes, lips pressed together… Grantaire was failing in his attempts not to stare at those lips. The intriguing man was almost lighting up the dim carriage and, when he brought out his own phone and typed his own message, the softer look that spread across his face could have warmed Grantaire through on even the coldest of days.

He was finding it incredibly hard not to gasp out loud. The student nodded his head decisively and dragged his eyes away heavily to finish the message to Eponine.

Locking his phone and putting it in his pocket, Grantaire pulled out his headphones and reluctantly, though taking his time as he did so, stood up as the tube drew close to his stop. His heart skipped in his chest as he heard the blonde man stand up behind him and clear his throat, making Grantaire bite his lip at the fact they might be getting off together, so to speak.

The dark haired student couldn’t help but imagine the feeling of the golden haired stranger’s soft breath on the back of his neck, and a hand running down his arm as he whispered his name into his ear in a low, rough voice… when the train stopped abruptly, sending the real-life stranger flying into Grantaire’s back. He couldn’t help but scream internally as he considered that he may have been bumped harder than necessary. Though this was probably his over-active imagination again.

“Sorry," came the to-the-point apology, the pink colour flooding into the man’s tanned cheeks, only increasing his appeal.

You’re not sorry at all, are you? Grantaire mused to himself.

"No, don’t worry about it, probably my fault!" he called back over his shoulder, as he tried to hide that he couldn’t stop smiling. Grantaire realised he might look slightly deranged so, as the doors of the tube opened, he rushed out and towards the steps leading up to the university. He did however permit himself one more glance back in the direction of his golden god - his golden god who seemed to be heading in the exact same direction as he was…

 

After a good few hours or so spent not concentrating on his lecture, but instead on daydreams about the stranger from the train, Grantaire walked across the grass out the front of the university and jumped as an arm linked with his on either side of him. Eponine and Jehan, their poet friend.

Grantaire immediately began venting about his encounter on the train.

"I knooow, dear," Jehan answered, “this one told me."

He nodded at Eponine.

"And I think it’s terribly romantic!" he said sweetly with a smile.

"You think everything’s terribly romantic, you soppy mess," Eponine replied, meeting Jehan’s scowl with a grin.

"Buuut, I think it’s time to stop picking your future husbands on the tube, R.”

Grantaire let out a sarcastic whimper, matched with an, “‘Ponine, come on, at least let me dream!”

He noticed her smug smile then, and question it, “Wait, why?”

Grantaire’s tone was slightly suspicious as he narrowed his eyes.

“Becaaause…" she continued and, before he could open his mouth to argue, Jehan burst out with a ridiculous statement: “We think we’ve found your soul mate!"

The poet’s grin was ridiculous; there were almost tears in his eyes for god’s sake.

Grantaire frowned, “Wh- what?”

He did a nervous laugh as Eponine explained, “Seriously, you’re gonna love this guy!”

Grantaire dropped their arms though and began walking away towards the Musain ABC, a tall, slightly crooked, building on the corner of the street. To students it was known simply as ‘the Musain’, the ‘ABC’ part of the name referring to it being split into three different levels: attic, bar, and club.

The top floor was inhabited by a light-lit and quiet café, overlooking the Parisian streets below; it was always good for a quick drop-in after uni, or sometimes even before when Grantaire hadn’t had time to grab breakfast on the way out the door. The ground floor was a cosy, traditional, old-style pub, where Grantaire played sets every so often, when he felt like it; just him and his guitar. Eponine had always said to him he looked like the musician type, which kind of, he supposed, went hand in hand with his creative flair for art. Then, finally, lying underground beneath it all was the large nightclub. The Musain was a student’s dream so to speak, especially as it was situated so close to the university. It was ideal.

Eponine chased after him, cooing, “‘Taaire, just give this guy a chance! He’s tall, blonde and devastatingly handsome."

At this point, Jehan caught up and leant his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, “It’s true, his beauty is poetic!"

The blonde god from that morning smiled at Grantaire in his mind. If Eponine and Jehan were both saying this apparent soul mate of his was made for him then he must be something, they never agreed with the guys Grantaire had fallen for in the past.

He forced the image of the golden-haired wonder to fade; he had to be realistic. Grantaire sighed then with a small smile, “Alright, what’s his name then?"

He might as well try the guy before saying no completely. Eponine and Jehan grinned, first happily at each other and then more menacingly at Grantaire as they almost sang in harmony, “His name’s Enjolras!"

 

Enjolras. Eennjoolraass. Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras. Grantaire couldn’t stop repeating it to himself; he had to admit this guy did sound impressive. There was something intriguing about his name, almost as if he’d heard it before and yet, whenever he tried to put a face to such a name, his mind went blank. He could only dream of the man to whom the name belonged, surely he must be quite something with a name as strong as this. Jehan had mentioned he was the leader of the debate club, among other activist groups, so he’d decided he’d be dealing with a pretty strong-willed individual, which excited Grantaire; he liked a challenge.

Lying in bed that night after an evening at the Musain with ‘Ponine and Jehan, Grantaire’s mind strayed back to the blonde stranger on the tube, those bright blue eyes and impossible lips with those curls topping it all off. He couldn’t see personally how this Enjolras, no matter how incredible he sounded, could beat his god from the train.

Running a hand through his own curls, Grantaire read the overly-excited text he’d just received from Jehan.

Tomorrow, my dear, tomorrow you will meet your soul mate!

He rolled his eyes before replying.

You are ridiculous Prouvaire, I swear to god, he typed back, before rolling over and trying to succumb to sleep. He was still trying to picture the mysterious Enjolras when he finally drifted off sometime after two am, but was only successful in imagining what he’d do to the god-like stranger if ever given the chance.

 

“Grantaire!!”

He woke with a start to a harsh knocking on the door of his cramped apartment, and groaned when he heard Eponine practically scream, “I’ve called you four times you arse, how the hell can you even still be asleep?!"

She was going to wake his whole floor up if he didn’t move, and Grantaire could almost see the fury in her eyes so, considering the consequences (on himself more than anything) that might come along with ignoring her, rolled himself from his bed with a yawn.

Through the curtains strewn across the dirty window, the sun battled against surprisingly yielding clouds and Grantaire couldn’t help but smile thoughtfully: if the weather was this promising, what was to say the rest of the day wouldn’t be equally so?

Another inconsiderately loud knock threatened to splinter the wood of his already shabby-looking door and this, combined with a milder, “You don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?" from ever-the-poet Jehan, caused Grantaire to shake his head with a smirk. Jesus, he sounded like something from a trashy romance novel.

Pulling on faded jeans and a t-shirt of more than questionable cleanness, he made a mental note to stop hanging around with a poet. Then, squirting on some aftershave and grabbing his keys and phone, Grantaire headed out the door to a cheer from Jehan and a, “Fiiiinally!” from Eponine.

Grantaire struggled to wake himself up properly as he was dragged too quickly across the university campus, an already cold coffee bought hastily by Jehan spilling onto his hand. At the edge of the grass, he could just make out the outline of an awkward young man through bleary eyes and, judging by the awkward grin Eponine was sporting, decided it must be Pontmercy.

The grin faded as they grew closer and a smaller, slimmer frame became visible, latched onto Marius’ waist, and the surprisingly strong girl’s grip tightened on his arm.

“That’s Cosette.”

Eponine all but sneered, sensing Grantaire’s confusion.

“I thought you two were… I hate her already,” he decided, furrowing his eyebrows apologetically in her direction and elbowing Jehan lightly for some support. She sighed before replying, “No you don’t, no one hates her, she’s a fucking ray of fucking sunshine!”

Her mouth fixed in a wholly unimpressed pout, but proceeded to advance on Marius, jabbing him in the back and chuckling when he jumped in shock. The Cosette girl laughed along with them, but seemed to instinctively tighten her grip on the tall man separating them - Grantaire instantly sensed the tension.

He shot Jehan a concerned look, who whispered quietly to him, “It’s true R, she’s enchanting - try to hate her I dare you!”

He tried, my god did he try in those first few minutes, but there was something impossibly friendly about Cosette’s lark-like voice, and her smile was so infectious that, if he wasn’t struggling so hard to maintain loyalty to ‘Ponine, Grantaire would’ve warmed to her immediately. And Grantaire never liked anyone immediately, apart from strangers on the train… It was definitely understandable why Marius never let his eyes slip from hers for more than a few seconds anyway, and Eponine’s own eyes spoke way more than for her; “Tell me about it,” she said, without saying anything at all. Grantaire smirked at her.

The five students, after a few minutes of introductions between Grantaire and Marius’ new (and seemingly permanent) fixture, began making their way to the gates of their university where a reasonable number of people had gathered. They must have looked like quite an odd bunch, Grantaire thought as he acknowledged the bright little flowers tucked intricately into Jehan’s hair, before it dawned on him: “Where are we actually going again?” he questioned, only loud enough for the poet and possibly Eponine, if she’d stopped gawping at Marius and shooting daggers at Cosette’s back for at least a second, to hear.

“I think it’s some form of protest? Loves a bit of anarchy, does your soul mate,” Jehan answered in an equally hushed tone, leading him into the already growing crowd.

Dragging herself away from her attempts at making Cosette visibly awkward – update: it was working – Eponine squealed excitedly in his face; if he hadn’t been properly awake before, he certainly was now.

“He’ll be here soon!!”

Grantaire’s eyes widened at the haughtiness of it all, “Waiting to make his grand entrance, are you sure I’m gonna like this guy?”

Grantaire had never been one for politics, ever, and his cynicism was already getting the better of him. His expectations were already set reasonably low as always, and his friends rolled their eyes almost simultaneously as he spoke. Surprisingly, it was Marius who replied this time, “You will, trust me, just… have patience.”

His voice was surprisingly earnest, and it worked in silencing Grantaire instantly. The two had never been particularly close – only truly linked through Eponine rather than their own personal friendship – although, thinking about it, Pontmercy had always been there, despite being in the year above in school and now uni, no matter how much of a wet blanket he was at times.

So, defying his initial instincts, Grantaire decided to take their advice and settled himself into the throng of people talking enthusiastically about medical ethics and the ozone layer and saving the whales, awaiting the arrival of the acclaimed leader.

While they waited, Grantaire was introduced to a few more friends of friends – mostly Marius’, but a few seemed familiar with Jehan and his expressive ways.

There was charming Courfeyrac, a cheery man with a wicked laugh and dark curls, not unlike his own; worried-looking Joly, who refused Grantaire’s handshake when he offered in fear he might catch a cold; giggling Bossuet, apologising on his hypochondriacal friend’s behalf.

“First year of medicine – he’s become hyper-aware of germs and it’s going to be the death of us … or him!” he’d only half joked, as he clapped Grantaire warmly on the back.

Behind them, the insanely pretty Musichetta, who they discovered had recently started working in the Musain since starting university, kept a close eye on the two of them – her “boys”. Grantaire didn’t know who to ask about the nature of their relationship, but it was still far too early in the morning to let his mind wander over such things. Next was Feuilly, a Polish exchange student with an accent that kept everyone entertained and who just looked plain happy to be there taking part. He was lead around like a lost puppy by the infamous Bahorel, already Grantaire’s occasional drinking buddy on rainy nights once they’d all finished with the Musain and were looking for something stronger than coffee. Bahorel was taking great joy in giving the poor exchange student terribly offensive phrases to use to greet strangers.

Last but not least, Grantaire was introduced to Combeferre: blatant mother hen with a welcoming kindness about him who also happened to be Enjolras’ best friend due to them being in the same year – third year. Grantaire considered asking about the still missing member of their party but thought better of it, allowing the academic to wax poetic about the work that had gone into this event and how proud he and Enjolras were.

“It’s like they’re new parents or something!” Grantaire hissed into Eponine’s ear as Combeferre left to busy himself with setting up a microphone for the so-far absent leader. When she failed to reply, he glanced down to find her momentarily distracted, dark eyes following the spectacled man with a spark of intent. He’d only just committed the moment to memory for future blackmail purposes when the microphone crackled loudly and they were granted the presence of their leader. And what a presence it was.

Grantaire’s jaw went slack when he saw him: Enjolras, an absolute vision in a bright red coat. The young art student tried to reason with himself, deciding that he was still asleep as icy blue eyes scanned the lively crowd and a sense of overwhelming déjà vu crept over him.

After deciding against pinching his forearm fairly hard a number of times just to be sure this was in fact real life, Enjolras seemed to have done, what looked to Grantaire like, a double take and was now looking him right in the eye.

The stare pierced him amongst the rabble, catching him off guard, and before Grantaire thought to control his own facial expressions, he found himself grinning wholeheartedly at a man he barely even knew. Or rather, wouldn’t have known at all if it wasn’t for Eponine and Jehan’s meddling. Although, maybe he would have…

Was it? Surely it couldn’t be. Had Eponine known who he meant? Surely she couldn’t have, he hadn’t even known himself. Grantaire’s insides flipped repeatedly, turning somersaults over and over, when the beautiful not-so-strange stranger gave him a stern look, with just the smallest hint of a smile. It was only slightly, and only for a second, and he was probably only doing it to be polite, Grantaire had to remind himself with a deep breath… But still, his mouth fell open as it had done the previous day when being in this Enjolras man’s presence; he seemed, so far, to be having this effect on Grantaire upon arrival.

The art student felt another pair of eyes on him then, and only just managed to tear his own from that icy blue stare, finding Eponine wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“We kneew you’d like him, you should see your face right now it’s priceless!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back in glee and clutching at Jehan’s shoulder to steady herself.

Grantaire had to stop himself laughing out loud before he replied, “It’s him ‘Ponine, holy shit it’s him!”

He had to fight back a frown when he looked back to find Enjolras’ mesmerising eyes focused on something else entirely, though he wasn’t surprised, and looked back to his friends expectantly. Or at least the ones not distracted and listening to the leader’s speech.

“It’s who?” the few of them asked, followed by a belated, “Who’s him?” from a terribly confused Feuilly, bless him.

In order to at least try to keep his affairs reasonably private, he yanked Eponine and Jehan to the side after excusing himself rather bluntly.

“It’s him!” he repeated again, trying and failing to wipe the smile from his face, “the guy from earlier, from yesterday. THE guy!”

Finally something clicked inside Eponine’s head and she reeled back, letting out a loud gasp, “Oh my god, train guy? Enjolras is train guy?!” she started jumping up and down on the spot; Grantaire could tell she’d be screaming were they alone.

Grantaire nodded fervently, adding, “Not just train guy, Enjolras is train GOD!”

He made sure not to roll his eyes quite as obviously as he would’ve liked as the three as of them giggled like kids in Disneyland – or anyone in Disneyland actually.

“I told you, I told you were soul mates!! Oh my god!”

She quite literally couldn’t stop cackling.

“So you see, the two of you were meant for each other,” Jehan murmured, and Grantaire felt ever so slightly sick when he considered the poems he might be forming in his mind. He gave Jehan an almost disturbed look as Eponine grabbed his arm; he didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking so excited before this ever, as she spoke again.

“Now all you need to do is actually meet him, properly this time!”

Grantaire honestly thought he could faint at the thought of coming face to face with the god-like man in front of him, whom he had turned again to watch. And speaking to him?! Actually holding a conversation and having this Enjolras’ full attention on him… He couldn’t help it this time, Grantaire just laughed out of pure elation as he turned back to Eponine, who grinned back up at him, resting her head on him for a second before giving his arm a squeeze.

“Tonight at the Musain, you can meet him,” she squealed, and Grantaire kissed the top of her head, before gazing back up at the golden haired god in front of him.


	2. Chapter 2

The event was over in what seemed like a flurry of seconds; Enjolras’ voice flowing smoothly like liquid gold, enflamed with passion and belief in their beloved causes, throughout.

“He could’ve been talking about anything and you’d have listened!” Eponine teased Grantaire as they headed to the Musain together, Jehan in tow and her demeanour considerably cheerier now that Cosette had departed for her yoga class, dragging Marius along with her much to the group’s amusement.

“Yoga Pontmercy!?” Grantaire had taken pleasure in tormenting the poor guy, cackling after them as Courfeyrac made a comic Indiana Jones style whip noise as they left. The others in the debate group would join them later and, as promised, Enjolras would be with them.

Grantaire didn’t even know how to comprehend that information, positive he’d slip up and ruin any chance he never really had with the awe-inspiring activist.

Eponine definitely had a point: the protest could have been about anything and he’d have remained glued to the spot, lost in the eyes of revolution itself. Even if the subject had been saving the fucking whales Grantaire would most likely have left that day as the biggest defender of whale rights (that was a thing, right?) anyone had ever seen!

Pulling the door to the Musain open, Grantaire stepped aside and let his friends enter first before following suit and nodding to the owner behind the bar. The three trekked up the narrow staircase to the café, then, telling Eponine and Jehan to grab their seat, Grantaire went to get the order.

“I think we should take advantage of Enjolras and his protests more often to put you in good moods R, if you’re gonna buy us coffee,” Eponine winked at him as she went over to sink into her usual seat on the sofa in the corner. He chuckled at her, not bothering to read the menu boards above his head; they always got the same thing.

Behind the counter, Grantaire recognised a familiar face from earlier.

“Musichetta, right?” he asked with a smile.

The dark-eyed girl returned the smile, also recognising him with a, “Oh, hey, Eponine’s friend, who I can’t remember the name of… Sorry!”

Grantaire corrected her before she turned to start making the coffees he’d ordered. He leant a hand on the counter, thinking he should probably try to make a bit of conversation with the girl.

“You can’t have stayed for the whole protest thing earlier, did you? If you’re working here already.”

Musichetta turned her head slightly to respond, “Nah I didn’t, no. They’re not really my thing to be honest, I just went ‘cause Jo and Boss asked me to.”

Grantaire chuckled, “Yeah same here, I don’t really do politics.”

He could hear Eponine and Jehan laughing in the corner and he glanced over at them with a grin.

“I’ll bring these over if you want,” Musichetta said, noticing him waiting for the tray.

“Oh, thanks! Ok,” he replied, smiling again as he went to take his seat next to Eponine on the couch, leaving Musichetta to busy herself with trying not to break the espresso machine, obviously still getting used to the job. She stopped for a moment to scan a stained finger across the shabby rota on the wall though.

“She seems nice,” Grantaire murmured to the two gigglers as he sat down.

“Mmm, well, she should be if she’s friends with Bossuet, he’s a good laugh,” Eponine replied, Jehan nodding in agreement across from them.

It was a few minutes later before Musichetta shuffled over carrying a tray, placing it down on the wooden table in front of them.

“There we go!”

The three friends said thanks as they picked up their mugs, the girl going to leave again, but then stopping upon remembering something.

“Oh, Grantaire, it says on the rota you’re supposed to be playing tonight? Is that later on in the pub or…”

Grantaire almost dropped the boiling mug in his hands, earning a confused look from Eponine and Jehan, but he managed to steady himself.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he muttered. “Erm…”

All thoughts of his slot tonight had – surprise, surprise – been pushed from his mind by thoughts of Enjolras. And now that they were meeting up with the others tonight, here, he felt unusually nervous about playing to a crowd that his apparent soul mate was in.

“Eh, aw damn it, I completely forgot about that! Bugger.”

Grantaire sat his mug down and chewed the inside of his lip, a frown now showing on his features.

“R, oh my god, you can show off your talents to Enjolras!”, Eponine exclaimed, hitting his arm playfully.

He wrinkled his nose slightly, “Mmm, I don’t know if I want to, to be honest. I mean, I’ve never spoken to the guy yet…”

Jehan frowned, “What? Grantaire passing up the chance to show off? This is a first.”

This earned him an ‘oh very funny’ look from Grantaire, before he continued, “Mmm, I think I’ll cancel that tonight, Musichetta, if that’s alright?”

She nodded back at him, “Yeah I’ll just score you off, no worries.”

After she’d left the three of them again, Eponine gave Grantaire an expectant look and waited for him to notice. He glanced up, then frowned, “What?”

“Are you mental, you’d impress him so much if you play tonight!” she looked at Jehan to back her up, who nodded again giving her a confused look.

She turned back to Grantaire, watching him, waiting for a reply.

“Are you embarrassed, playing your own stuff?”

Eponine rested her head on her hand, reaching out with the other for her mug. Grantaire frowned at her again, “No, no I’m not, it’s just…”

He pouted for a second before shaking his head slightly.

“Just…,” Jehan questioned.

Grantaire sat back, “Well, he was out there in front of a crowd today and they were all on his side, they were there for him… And…”

Eponine sat her mug back down, “And what, R? Because you play to smaller crowds with not everyone being in the pub just for you, that’s gonna look unimpressive to big, mighty Enjolras, yeah?”

There was a pause.

Then Grantaire spoke again, “Well, yeah. Why would a guy who is so in love with politics think a crap musician art student is a good thing? He won’t.”

Eponine sighed at the suddenly miserable expression on her friend’s face, resting a hand on his shoulder, “Babe, I’m not even gonna tell you you’re good, or remind you rather, ‘cause you’ve heard me say it a thousand times over for god’s sake!”

This got a chuckle out of the art student.

“But if you don’t wanna play then don’t play, juuust get to know him first,” she smiled, “and if he doesn’t notice that you’re the amazing, talented, brilliant, funny, drop-dead-gorgeous guy that we know you are…”

“Well…,” Jehan smirked, making them all laugh, before Eponine continued.

“Well then he’s the one missing out.”

Grantaire, still slouched back in the couch, looked up at his best friend, smiling slightly, “Thanks, Ep.”

She nodded back at him, making a satisfied noise, “Anytime, R. Now, drink up so we can get back to mine to freshen up before tonight.”

She made a squealing noise and clapped her hands together, Jehan wiggling his eyebrows at Grantaire with a smug grin.

 

Eponine lived just round the corner from the Musain, in a crumbling but liveable building rented out as dirt cheap student accommodation. She supposedly shared with two other girls, but they were yet to make an appearance while Grantaire was around, and he was around a hell of a lot.

He watched her adjust her jeans and carefully apply another layer of mascara in the old mirror hanging on her wall: she never did have to try very hard to look amazing; slender yet curvy with dark hair falling in gentle waves almost to her waist, and deep chocolate eyes that twinkled when she smiled. This was demonstrated as she spotted him pull a face in her direction, laughing and almost shoving the mascara wand into her eye.

"Who’ve you got in your sights tonight, ‘Ponine? And pleease don’t say Marius because we both know that’s a lost cause."

Grantaire sprawled himself across her small yet unexpectedly comfortable bed with a loud humph, craning his neck to inspect his own face in the mirror.

"No one in particular…" she trailed off, blatantly lying.

"Well whoever he is I fear for him!" Grantaire joked, tugging a hand through unruly curls in an attempt to make them sit at least a little flatter.

"God thanks for the support, darling!" she replied, turning away from the mirror having perfected both her outfit and makeup.

"Anytime doll, anytime at all."

This kind of dry sarcasm featured in the majority of their conversations and was also one of the founding principles of their unbreakable friendship. To outsiders they must have seemed as if they absolutely despised each other.

"Has Jehan texted yet? He said he would when he was leaving," she asked, as if dismissing their previous conversation. Whoever this guy was, she really didn’t want to talk about him with Grantaire.

He reached to her bedside table to recover her battered old phone with its one unopened message.

"Shit yeah, he left 15 minutes ago!" he replied, tossing the phone back down and rushing to the bathroom for a last minute check.

"We’ll definitely be popular with him tonight then!"

They were both all too familiar with the awful temper Jean Prouvaire possessed when he found a good reason.

Looking down at himself, Grantaire picked up on all of even the most insignificant wardrobe malfunctions: his jeans were torn slightly at both knees and their colour had faded over several years of wear; there were smudges of charcoal on his plaid shirt from the sketching session he’d had earlier; and his boots were much too heavy for a night out.

"I’m a mess!" he called through the door with a mouthful of toothpaste. Still, at least he’d topped up his aftershave.

"Mentally? Physically? Emotionally?" Eponine replied when he emerged, raking through a small but cluttered wardrobe in search of a bag to match her top.

"Try all three at once!"

Grantaire plonked himself back down on the bed, bouncing slightly till the mattress settled.

“Aw, babe,” Eponine’s reply came from practically inside the wardrobe; she’d reach Narnia soon if she wasn’t careful Grantaire thought, chuckling.

“Listen,” she continued, now standing upright clutching her chosen bag in her hand, “you’ve nothing to be nervous about, just be yourself, that’s all you can do,” she smiled, “And maybe buy him drinks to get him on side, or something.”

This left Grantaire feeling slightly more hopeful about the night ahead as he smiled back at her, nodding once.

It only took them five minutes or less to reach the Musain from Eponine’s flat, strolling arm in arm as she tried to make him feel better about meeting Enjolras, which so far seemed to be working. They were often mistaken for a couple themselves the way they went on, teasing each other and being so close. The pair had been friends since they were five when Eponine had shoved Grantaire over at school for taking her crayons; it had taken him all of a day to get over that and by the time they started high school they were inseparable. Grantaire had joked that should either of them still be single by the time they were forty then they’d be each other’s safety marriage, even if he wasn’t interested in her in that way.

Outside the Musain, Jehan was waiting for them, and, on seeing them approach, tapped his watch with a put on un-amused look on his face.

“Apologies, R, Enjolras has been and gone already, you missed him from taking too long checking how you look.”

Eponine hit the poet’s arm, “Oi! Don’t tell him that, he’s nervous enough as it is.”

Jehan recoiled dramatically, being funny, arms up defending himself, “Ah, no stop, Ep! I’m sorry!”

She gave him a look as Grantaire rested his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat quickly.

“Eh, are they in there? I’d rather be the first to get here than have to walk in and… Yeah.”

Jehan shook his head, “No, don’t think so, not yet, so you’re fine.”

Eponine nudged Grantaire, “You could have had a great entrance with that, R; Enjolras would have had to notice you walking over, like in slow-mo with a bit of a swagger, a blue steel just for good measure…”

She acted all this out to the giggles of her two friends; yeah, Grantaire felt much better about this now.

“Right, come on guys, let’s get in there.”

“Quite literally in your case,” Jehan added, and the laughing started up again, following them into the Musain.

After about half an hour of hysterical laughter, partly over the poor underprepared musician declared by Musichetta as Grantaire’s last minute replacement, and partly just because the trio did little else when they were around each other, plus the two rounds of ill-advised shots bought by Courfeyrac on his arrival (considerably earlier than the others thanks to his self-declared ability to sweet talk Enjolras into letting him leave), the tension and nerves had all but fizzled to nothing in Grantaire. Marius and Cosette had also joined them, the former looking considerably more stressed out than usual before the latter declared, “Turns out yoga’s not his thing. But don’t worry I took plenty of pictures!"

Marius’ face went scarlet and he shot Eponine a desperate look.

"You got yourself into this, Pontmercy!" she retorted, looking rather pleased about the whole situation. This, naturally, reduced them all to fits of giggles again, Grantaire deciding there and then that their Marius doing the downward facing dog and sun salutations was possibly the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

He felt everyone breathe a sigh of relief as they realised that, thank god, this Cosette did have a sense of humour after all - and a wicked one at that!

"I like this one, you should keep her!" Courfeyrac declared, and it seemed like he spoke on behalf of all concerned - even Eponine didn’t look particularly phased as the blonde pinched Marius’ cheeks, playfully cooing, “Aww baby I’m sorry!" as she did so.

Grantaire had all but forgotten about the imminent arrival of a certain someone - not really, the icy blue eyes seemed constantly somewhere among his thoughts lately - until Jehan piped up innocently as the formidable Eponine challenged a clueless Courfeyrac to an arm wrestle, and was winning of course.

"Soo, when will the others be gracing us with their presence?"

He’d taken a flower from the little vase in the centre of their table and was braiding it into Cosette’s shining hair, a friendship clearly blossoming between the two already.

"Ah ok you win, have mercy woman!" Courfeyrac declared as his hand was slammed down, almost sending their unfinished drinks flying. He then answered, “Hmm, should be any time now I’d say."

Grantaire’s heart instantly sped up, and his mission of trying his best to aim peanuts at Pontmercy’s freckly face was suddenly abandoned, much to his target’s delight.

"Actually," Courfeyrac continued, glancing to the opening door, “speak of the devil!"

Grantaire all but obliterated the remaining peanut he held, muttering under his breath, “More like the angel".

Eponine, sitting next to him naturally, heard this and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey, man!”

Courfeyrac stood to welcome Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel and Feuilly, slapping them all on the back. Joly flinched at this, worried as ever, he probably thought one of them would break a bone or something, but Bossuet grabbed Courfeyrac and pulled him into a hug.

“How ya doin’ mate, I didn’t get a chance to see you earlier?”

Feuilly was, like earlier, following Bahorel around, but still managed to look lost amongst the group. They were all standing around the table, crowding Grantaire and the others still sitting, blocking the art student’s view of the door. There was still no Enjolras.

He glanced at Eponine with an unsure look; she had the exact same expression, but smiled nevertheless. As Grantaire took a sip of his beer though, he heard Bahorel say to Courfeyrac as they sat down, “‘Ferre and ‘Jolras are just parking the car, they’ll be down in a minute.”

Grantaire nearly choked on his drink, spluttering as he wiped his mouth. Eponine placed a hand on his back, “You alright, R?”

Still smiling at him, winking as he turned to nod his answer. He raised his eyebrows as he smiled back, knowing she understood.

Courfeyrac nodded at Bahorel’s comment, but said, “It takes two of them to park a car?”

A few of the others chuckled at this before Bossuet added, “Tight spaces, it’s difficult,” making them all fall about laughing.

“Right, who wants what to drink? I’ll get this round,” Jehan jumped up, trying to make a good impression on their new group.

It was then that the door opened again, and, now that everyone besides Jehan was sat down, Grantaire had a clear view of who had just walked in. Just like on the train, and earlier today, he was hit by the striking image that was Enjolras; tall, chiselled Enjolras, with a presence so commanding Grantaire was surprised the whole room hadn’t fallen silent under his assuming leadership. Not that he would have noticed if it had.

He felt like everything was circling the blonde god-of-a man; Enjolras the centre of the universe radiating an ethereal light that didn’t blind Grantaire, but instead made him feel warm and safe under Enjolras’ watch.

He knew he was staring, and he could feel Eponine tapping his arm to get his attention, but still Grantaire couldn’t draw his eyes away from the impossible man now walking over to them with Combeferre. Eponine could have been mistaken, but Marius swore after he heard it too, but she thought she heard a squeak as the two men reached their table.

The art student felt a finger under his chin push his mouth closed, and he turned to Eponine then to find her giggling away again. He grinned, muttering, “Did I make that really obvious?" Grantaire rubbed his neck.

"Mmm, yeah you could say that," she mumbled back, trying not to full out laugh, “I think Courf and Bossuet noticed your ogling."

Grantaire went pink and glanced across at the two mentioned, but found his attention was drawn from them though when Courfeyrac, standing again from hugging Combeferre and play-hitting Enjolras on the arm, said to Grantaire, Eponine, Jehan and Cosette, “Eh, you’ve met ‘Ferre, but guys who don’t know him, this," he put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, “is our brave leader, Enjolras."

The blonde man reached out his hand to Eponine who shook it, saying, “Eponine, hi, nice to meet you finally, blondie."

He gave her an odd look at that comment, but then it was Grantaire’s turn.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest as Enjolras leant over slightly in order to reach him, holding out his hand, giving Grantaire an expectant look as he waited for the student to take it. Another hand (Eponine’s) landed on Grantaire’s leg under the table – he would have shot her a look then if he could - as he reached up, taking Enjolras’ outstretched one; a flush rose in his cheeks and he prayed it wasn’t visible in the dimly lit pub.

Enjolras’ skin was like velvet, soft and smooth in the art student’s rough hand. Grantaire had to control himself in order to stay composed; internally he was screaming like a child, wishing Enjolras was closer so he could smell his aftershave.

"H- Hi!" he heard himself say, his voice sounded miles away as the air surprisingly only slightly caught in his throat.

“Eh, I’m Grantaire,” he managed to choke out, staring up into those icy blue pools. He was amazed he could remember his own name and was indescribably grateful that his voice didn’t decide to break halfway through.

Enjolras nodded at him, a brief smile on his lips, “A pleasure."

Aren’t you just?

God, Grantaire hoped he hadn’t said that out loud. Looking around, no one - besides Eponine, smirking at his awkwardness beside him - appeared to be laughing. He breathed a sigh of relief. Jehan claimed later that Grantaire’s eyes had ‘positively sparked’, but he couldn’t force his open mouth to form any words that might have actually made him seem even mildly witty or intelligent. Damn it, at the minute he’d settle for sounding human! The flustered man simply added, “The pleasure’s all mine."

Sensing the fact that Grantaire was nearly at the point of forgetting how to make words, and deciding to be kinder than Eponine who was still laughing - wonderfully supportive as always - Jehan butted in, “All of our pleasure’s, share ‘Taire!"

He laughed at himself, and anyone who knew him well enough would be aware that he was laughing because he’d just rhymed unintentionally, forever the poet.

Enjolras reclaimed the hand the art student must have been crushing in greeting, blatantly and infuriatingly unaware of the way a mere touch had affected him, before leaning up again and, after shaking Cosette and Jehan’s hand, sat himself at the end of the table. He immediately dove into a conversation with Combeferre about something politics-related.

Grantaire didn’t know what he’d expected Enjolras to act like; if he’d keep the strong, commanding demeanour when he wasn’t in front of a crowd or not. What he had wanted him to act like was totally different to the real-life situation, and the art student couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Why should he, it wasn’t like Enjolras was going to take one look at him and fall head over heels for him. Grantaire wished he had though.

Still, the night rolled on and drinks were downed, laughter being a near present feature amongst the group. Within the first round of drinks, the initial tension between the group had vanished completely. The newly introduced members never seemed to run out of things to talk about: Cosette was busy Googling couples Halloween costumes for the party coming up at the Musain in a few weeks, and grinning excitedly as she shared some of the most sickeningly sweet costumes ever seen with Marius; Bahorel was deep in conversation with Bossuet about the latest episode of Game of Thrones, while Feuilly listened with narrowed eyes, only interrupting once to ask what a game of throne actually was please; Combeferre was writing a list of books he thought Eponine would like on a napkin with her eyeliner, their heads were reasonably close together and Grantaire noted how much more interested she seemed in literature than he thought she would be if it was him recommending the books; Musichetta had finished her shift and had plonked herself in Joly’s lap, trying to convince him that he wasn’t going to get a cold while inside and to prise the tightly knotted scarf from around his neck as Jehan asked her permission to base his next poem on her. That left Enjolras. And Grantaire of course.

Sure, he’d been dipping in and out of conversation with everyone else there, but the blonde god was his main intention. The art student didn’t know how they’d ended up sitting next to each other – which was probably the drink - but, as Enjolras leant in to speak, he quickly thanked a god he’d need believed in.

"Bit of a disappointment, eh?" he asked, nodding towards the makeshift stage and the poor under rehearsed babbling unintelligibly upon it.

"Aw I dunno, he’s not too bad!" Grantaire tried to argue the guy’s corner, he knew the pain of public embarrassment of course, and felt somehow protective of him; it could’ve been him up there making an absolute fool of himself.

"Marius told me there was another guy supposed to be playing here tonight? Said he was quite something," Enjolras continued, taking a sip of water; of course he didn’t drink much if anything at all, Grantaire noticed.

Grantaire almost choked on his own beer, again, as he heard this, making a mental note to get Marius back for this, before shrugging and trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

"I think I know the guy he meant, he’s not all he’s cracked up to be if I’m honest."

Enjolras frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in disagreement, “Still, I was looking forward to it."

Grantaire couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of Enjolras’ mouth, or that he was talking to him - not dismissing him, not talking at or about him - actually talking to him. He could get used to this.

Eager to keep the conversation flowing, not quite ready to give Enjolras back yet (he sounded like a child with a toy, oh god), Grantaire decided to bring up the protest. A decision he most definitely regretted while playing the events of this night among others over and over again in his mind later on.

“I came to the protest earlier, quite a turnout…” he stated, trailing off at the end as if it would somehow force the blonde to reply.

“Yeah, we’re very proud of our supporters! It’s great going up there knowing people watching share the same views as you,” Enjolras enthused in return, eyes bright. Finally he’d sparked an interest, Grantaire thought and yet, with his next sentence, any sign of interest vanished from the somewhat intimidating man’s face.

“Yeah, not really my thing if I’m honest, I’ve never been one for politics.”

Enjolras’ previously casual gaze seemed to intensify until it was almost a glare, “How can you say that, when the politics of our country and the way in which it is run affects each one of us on a daily basis?”

His voice was louder now and he sounded as if he were still on the podium from earlier; a few of the others noticed the sudden change in volume and Combeferre shot Grantaire a warning glare that also appeared to be an apology. The young art student fumbled for what to say; he did want to make a good first impression but struggled to understand how a man with such power and knowledge could be so naïve. Grantaire quickly tried to win Enjolras back over, not wanting to ruin any chance he had before they’d even started.

“I didn’t mean to offend you or anything… I mean, your cause is great and everything, just…”

Enjolras cut in, “Not your thing, right.”

He stared down at his glass on the table for a few seconds, then shook his head before, to Grantaire’s surprise, continuing, “What is then?”

It took Grantaire a moment to register that this was still aimed in his direction, but answered warily, “What’s what then?”

“Your thing?” Enjolras ventured, clearly still willing to make an effort despite their dispute – Grantaire quickly decided to remember that he might welcome a challenge – as more questions were fired at him.

“Like, what do you study? And why is it more important than the welfare of our nation?”

Did Grantaire detect a hint of humour in this question, or at least an attempt at it?

“Erm, I’m doing art, yeah. Mainly portraiture,” he nodded, as Enjolras slowly nodded back.

“Ah right. Well, that’s not really my thing.”

Grantaire immediately grinned, chuckling at this, even despite the blonde keeping a fairly stern expression.

Their continued conversation was interrupted then though by Courfeyrac, his announcement coinciding with Grantaire’s laugh.

“Next round’s on me, folks, what d’you all want? Combeferre?”

“He’ll have a jagerbomb!”

Eponine had shot her arm into the air, waving her hand as if needing to get Courfeyrac’s attention. Combeferre seemed happy to go along with this.

“Apparently I’m having a jager… thingy. Is that safe?” he questioned Eponine, but it was Joly who replied, “Noooo they giff vu bad hung-”

A hand covered his mouth before he could reply though; Musichetta giggled at Joly’s drunken state as Bossuet said, “Don’t listen to him, Ferre, do it!”

Grantaire laughed with everyone at this, as out of the corner of his eye saw Enjolras lean forward before standing up.

“What’s this?” Courfeyrac joked, “Our merciful leader helping me get the drinks?”

Grantaire swallowed as he watched Enjolras and Courfeyrac, hoping that the blonde’s answer would be yes. But Enjolras was already reaching for his coat draped over the back of his chair.

“Sorry, mate, I’ve got to head off, got that essay for Lamarque to start before tomorrow.”

He didn’t look sorry at all, thought Grantaire, feeling the disappointment rise in his chest; this was his typical luck that the moment he started talking to Enjolras he gets drawn away. There was no point in anyone trying to persuade him to stay; it was Enjolras.

Grantaire couldn’t help but be traditionally cynical: regretting not bringing up something more interesting, something that might have held Enjolras’ attention for even just a while longer – given him a reason to stay.

Still, he had spoken to him, face to face, his god from the train, and managed not to collapse from heart failure. He caught Eponine’s eye, who winked at him and mouthed quickly, “It’s a start.”; everyone was too busy saying goodbye to their leader to notice this little comment.

The art student looked down, grinning at the thought Eponine had given him, before turning his head quickly to watch the red jacket disappear out of the Musain door.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks, following their first group night out, went by in a rush of surprisingly interesting lectures – for some anyway - and unsurprisingly confused thoughts on Grantaire’s part. Before he had time to even decide where he stood with the infuriatingly strong-willed Enjolras though, despite the time the art student had spent thinking about this subject, Grantaire found himself once again sprawled across Eponine’s bed as she tried to perfect her Halloween hairstyle. Now he had time to think about Enjolras.  
In his mind Grantaire studied the immaculate golden curls, the icy blue eyes, the almost-pout, the smooth tanned skin; he even thought about the colour red, which he now associated with the tall god-of-a-man. Enjolras always had some form of red on him, Grantaire had noticed.  
They had spoken briefly since the initial night out three weeks ago, the newbies of the whole group still turning up to Enjolras’ protests, even if, for Grantaire, it was only to see his blonde god. Supporting him was good, the art student had come to realise; if Enjolras noticed him always turning up, then maybe he’d come to appreciate him. Maybe…  
“Dammit, where’s Jehan when you need him?!” Eponine exclaimed then, running a brush through her dark curls – again - and getting rid of the dozenth braid.  
“I can’t get this to work, help me, R, you’ve always been better at hair than me!”  
Grantaire did as he was told – knowing better than to argue with a pissed off ‘Ponine – and pulled himself up to begin pleating the silky hair with a feather-light touch, “Yeah but Jehan’s better, but he’s busy working on his own costume, so… And you did tell him to stay away because you-”  
“Because I am not helping him put on tights, yes I remember!” she interrupted, placing her fake guns in the holders strapped to her thighs as Grantaire finished his work.  
“Bobble,” he reached a hand over Eponine’s shoulder, and after tying her braid secure, turned towards the bed again. She grabbed his shoulders though before he could take even a step.  
“Ah, not so fast, come here!” she ordered, picking up her makeup bag from the table next to her.  
“I think you can manage to do your own makeup, Ep,” the tired-looking art student began to argue; he was already in his costume and eager to catch a nap as his best friend finished hers.  
“Haha, you’re so hilarious,” Eponine declared, her face emotionless as she attempted deadpan humour. She couldn’t help but grin, however, when she informed him, “It’s not my makeup I’m talking about, dear!”  
And with that, she pounced on him, wrestling him to the floor and straddling his body in order to get at his face, cackling all the while.  
“Ahh fuck, no you bitch get off me I hate you!” Grantaire squirmed under the petite girl – how could someone so small be so strong?!  
“Grantaire,” Eponine started, holding his face with one hand and grabbing her eyeliner with the other, “you are not going as a pirate without eyeliner, I will not let you. Think Depp!”  
Eponine’s voice had adopted a mildly threatening tone and, once again opting not to argue with her, Grantaire submitted and allowed himself to be prodded at with the black crayon.  
“Ah, ow, what the-” the pirate’s eyes kept scrunching shut at the touch of the crayon. “How the fuck do you do this all the time?”  
“Oh, shut up! This is a straight guy’s dream, you know,” she informed him, her tongue poking through her teeth as she smudged her finger over his eyelid, “Lara Croft on top of you and all that!”  
“Is that a gun I can feel or are you just pleased to see me?” Grantaire asked, and they both fell about laughing. During this fit of giggles, he managed to roll the pair of them over and escape Eponine’s clutches. Looking in the mirror, he decided that the eyeliner didn’t actually look as bad as he thought it might.  
“Wait till Jehan sees that I got you to wear makeup!” Eponine giggled, throwing her head back.  
“You do look sexier though, I bet you-know-who will notice!”  
Grantaire saw her wiggle her eyebrows at him in her reflection. He grinned at the thought.  
“Well, you never know… But yeah wait till we see Jehan full stop, I don’t think I’m ever going to stop laughing!” Grantaire retorted, turning and reaching a hand down to pull Eponine up.  
“Speaking of costumes, I wonder what Train God is gonna go as…” she hinted, raising her eyebrows suggestively.  
“I hadn’t even thought,” the pirate replied quickly, blatantly lying; he’d thought of little else all day, all week even. Somehow he didn’t think someone like Enjolras would be one for Halloween or dressing up, but who was he to judge, he still knew so little about him after all.  
“Suure you hadn’t!” Eponine called, having disappeared into Narnia to look for her combat boots.  
“Oh by the way, have you heard about Courf’s costume?” he asked with a giggle, glad to be able to change the subject.  
“Ooh no I don’t think so, why what is it?” she had emerged, boots in hand and an inquisitive look on her face.  
“Just you wait and see, you’re gonna die!” he teased, opening the apartment door. Once Lara Croft had her boots on, he threw an arm round her as they headed for the Musain.  
As they turned the corner and the Musain came into full view – two gigantic pumpkins on the stairs and people spilling from its double doors in all kinds of costumes – Grantaire’s heart sped up and he stopped in the street, grabbing hold of Eponine’s arm.  
“I’m freaking out, ‘Ponine, what if he’s dressed as something wildly attractive?!” he asked in a rush, not even thinking about who might hear him.  
“And why would that be a bad thing, darling?” she retorted, pulling him forward in an eager attempt to reach the ABC, “and it’s Enjolras we’re talking about, anything he wears is instantly wildly attractive anyway!”  
He couldn’t think of anything witty enough to say in return so, with a tilt of his head, Grantaire allowed himself to be half dragged along the remaining pavement leading up to their favourite haunt.  
“Fiinallyy!!” Jehan called from their usual table when they entered the bar, Eponine still keeping a firm grip on Grantaire’s hand so as to prevent any attempts at escape. Their poetic friend did not take Halloween lightly and, as always, his costume was brilliantly perfected: bright green tights and tunic; pointed shoes; long hair tied back and pulled under a peaked hat with a red feather poking out. The perfect Peter Pan… if slightly camper.  
“You are totally ridiculous! I love it!” Eponine exclaimed, gathering the dainty man in a hug.  
“Wait till you see Courf! He’s getting drinks with Enjolras,” Combeferre called from their table, straightening his messy wig with a chuckle. Grantaire’s stomach nearly exploded at the mention of his god’s name, but covered his flushing cheeks with an answer.  
“Einstein, genius!” he commented on the more than appropriate costume Combeferre sported as Eponine took a seat next to him.  
“He was, yes.”  
Grantaire had stopped listening though, instead removing his eye-patch and scanning the room quickly for a glint of golden hair.  
For the time being, the only blonde in Grantaire’s sight was Cosette, dressed in a dainty pink dress, her long hair lengthened with extensions and intricately braided with hundreds of flowers.  
“Rapunzel, of course it had to be Disney!” he remarked, making a game of guessing who everyone was supposed to be until Enjolras turned up… if he ever did.  
Next to the doe-eyed beauty, Marius looked exceedingly uncomfortable in a makeshift Flynn Rider costume.  
“That’s what you get when your girlfriend’s a design student!” Eponine leant in to whisper, the tension between the two still not totally ironed out.  
"Behave," Grantaire nudged her playfully before swiftly changing the subject, back on to costumes of course, thanking his lucky stars that no one had yet mentioned the eyeliner.  
"Jesus Christ, Feuilly, what's Bahorel dressed you as?!" Grantaire asked, only just thinking to take a closer look at the exchange student’s beret, striped shirt and - was that garlic hanging around his neck?  
"Ectually it was my own idea," Feuilly contested, looking quite proud of himself as Bahorel - the batman to Bossuet's far too realistic Joker - slung a friendly arm around his little Polish protégé. Grantaire struggled to contain a laugh - which was more than could be said for the majority of the others who'd instantly dissolved into uncontrollable laughter upon the three’s entrance.  
"Well I suggested the Eiffel Tower, but he was having none of it!" came the instantly recognisable light-hearted tone of Courfeyrac... in a tutu?! He clutched a tray laden with drinks along with a pointed wand with a gold star at the end, and somehow every inch of him was covered in glitter.  
"I think I speak for all of us when I say... what the hell, Courf?!" Eponine asked, tears streaming down her blushing cheeks as she gestured to the short green dress the strapping man sported. Courfeyrac grinned wider than a heterosexual man in a tutu should ever grin as he sat the tray down before, "Can't you guess, I'm..." he twirled around, glitter falling from his curly hair, "Tinkerbell!"  
By this point, Grantaire had almost fallen off his seat from laughing: Courf had of course told him about this plan, but that didn't mean it was any less hilarious to see his friend dressed as a fairy! The hilarity almost caused him to overlook his main reason for attending the party, but not quite.  
Behind Courfeyrac, in all his shimmering glory, Grantaire’s train god stood laughing gently dressed in what looked like a bed sheet. The art student turned pirate swore he'd found the only person in the world who could pull off a fucking makeshift bed sheet toga!  
"Come on then, Enjolras, don't let Courf steal all the attention - who're you meant to be?" Eponine asked with a wicked smile on her face, reaching for one of the brightly coloured shots on their tray.  
"Don't ask him that!" Joly - who had come as a doctor, obviously - and Musichetta - a dangerously short-skirted nurse, also obviously - warned in unison. Enjolras opened his mouth to give what would most likely have been a very long winded explanation, but before he could say a word, Grantaire seized his chance and attempted a guess:  
"Are you Hercules?"  
Enjolras looked down at him in surprise, something unusual sparking in his bright eyes. He shook his head, "No, but I could just tell you, there's no need to guess-"  
Grantaire wasn’t giving up Enjolras’ attention that easily though, now that he had it.  
"Achilles? Adonis? Apollo?" he continued.  
Apollo, he thought to himself... that might stick. Apollo the sun god; the gloriously blonde student was certainly worthy of that title, possessing an indescribable glow that seemed to radiate from his very being. Had no one else noticed how captivating he was, even in that stupid bed sheet toga?! Apparently not, as the rest of the group were either just sitting waiting for Enjolras’ answer, downing drinks, or managing to have a million and one different conversations at once. Even Eponine wasn’t tracking Grantaire’s progress – Combeferre had her full attention.  
"Alright then, you win, tell me- Us?" Grantaire corrected himself, hoping no one picked up on his glitch. He had no idea who Enjolras was actually dressed as.  
“I'm Alexander the Great - I thought it was quite obvious!"  
Of course you would come as the most renowned leader in history; Grantaire fought back the urge to roll his eyes.  
Before he could come up with a comprehendible reply though, Bossuet - his messy red lipstick becoming more erratic with every drink - piped up, "Alexander the Great, wasn't he-"  
"One of the most famous leaders of all time? Yes," Combeferre replied instantly, poised to break out his historical literature knowledge.  
"Well I was going to say incredibly gay, but that too!" Bossuet continued bluntly, leaning over to ruffle a red-faced Enjolras' perfect curls with an innocent smile. This got a few laughs, but Grantaire wasn’t done yet.  
"I've definitely heard of him!”  
“Well yeah, of course you have, who hasn’t?” Combeferre chuckled.  
“Yeah but, was he not the one who'd conquered half the world by the time he was like 25? Is that your secret plan, Enjolras?" Grantaire teased, noting several pairs of raised eyebrows around the table, obviously picking up on his tone.  
"I thought 30, but yeah that's the one," Enjolras answered fairly flatly, taking another sip of something that surprisingly wasn't water. Grantaire considered letting it slide, but his argumentative side – and wanting to stay talking to Enjolras - proved successful.  
"I distinctly remember it was 25."  
The group, thinking the conversation over and having already changed the subject - Jehan now asking Cosette where she got her extensions and Marius begging her not to tell him - turned their heads to listen. A few were smirking, knowing fine well that Enjolras would find this a challenge to overcome. By the looks of things, no one usually entered this far into a mini-debate with their leader in such a casual way; mainly because they would most definitely lose. Enjolras' brows were furrowed, threatening his piercing stare.  
"Combeferre?"  
It was more of a command than a question. The so-called guide had already whipped out his iPhone and began furiously Googling, eager to settle this dispute as quickly as possible so as to let them get back to enjoying their Halloween. Simultaneously, he managed to elbow both Eponine - who was making a face at him - and Courfeyrac - who had imitated the very same Indiana Jones whip noise usually assigned to Marius and Cosette related behaviour - sharply in the ribs.  
As the intellectual raised a finger, waiting for the search results to load, Grantaire allowed himself to look Enjolras in the eye briefly. To his surprise, they were not harsh - but instead seemed somewhat pleased, containing a cruel glint of a challenge.  
"Sorry, E, he's right!"  
Grantaire raised his eyebrows in victory, but had to hide his disappointment when the gaze with his god was broken.  
"Ah... fair enough."  
The group exchanged a few expressions of disbelief as Enjolras admitted defeat, and Grantaire even thought he noticed Bahorel pass Bossuet some money under the table. This could prove interesting. Even Combeferre was struck momentarily silent, before reaching over to clap his best friend on the shoulder.  
“I didn't know you knew so much about Greek history, R!" Eponine half laughed, knowing full well that Grantaire had failed his final history exam at school; it wasn't that he didn't know it, just that the exams were boring.  
"I watched the film, Colin Farrell's hot - even when he's blonde!" he explained, and grinned thankfully when his remark was greeted with laughter - even slightly from Enjolras - and the vigorous nods of select heads (Eponine, Cosette and Jehan unsurprisingly).  
"And as for the gay thing, Boss, his boyfriend's name was Hephaestion and-" Grantaire began. "And if he was as beautiful as Jared Leto, he was a very lucky man!" ‘Ponine piped up, excited and ever so slightly tipsy by this point.  
"Who can resist an Irish accent eh?" he added, downing an unnameable yet awfully strong drink.  
"Speaking of the Irish..." Courfeyrac said, gesturing to the group of girls who had just stumbled through the doors and down the stairs to the club - one of whom was dressed as a leprechaun of the short-skirted variety.  
"Get up, losers, we're going dancing!" he announced, dragging Bahorel and Feuilly up with one swift pull. He grabbed the rest of them up in turn, leaving glitter everywhere, before leading the way through the crowds still gathered in the bar.  
Grantaire hadn't been as familiar with the "C" part of the ABC quite yet but, as they climbed a precarious staircase down into the club, he could tell he would be getting to know it very well. The music was so loud he almost couldn't hear himself think, but the main thing he noticed was how wonderful Enjolras looked amongst the throngs. The neon lights combined with the haze from the smoke machines made him look almost ethereal and, although his dancing was slightly awkward – Christ, Grantaire was surprised he was dancing at all – the art student had to admit he was impressed. Looking around at the close-knit gang of mismatching students dancing fairly drunkenly, he couldn't help but grin as he danced with them; proud to be one of them.  
Marius' hands remained latched onto Cosette's waist as they twirled close together; Courfeyrac was nowhere to be seen, although if you found a trail of glitter you'd probably find him with the leprechaun he'd been pursuing; Musichetta spun with both Joly and Bossuet simultaneously, never letting her boys stray too far. Next to Grantaire, Jehan was in his absolute element: pirouetting on the toes of his pointed shoes and waving his arms around in a way that ought not to look as good as he made it look. Eponine was on his other side, leading Combeferre in a strange rave version of the Macarena (the only dance he knew). Grantaire was taking note of this fast forming friendship: Albert Einstein and Lara Croft - an odd couple but you never could tell. His own dancing was more comparable to that of Bahorel's, taking the form of mostly jumping and the occasional arm wave, while Feuilly's was just plain indescribable but at least he looked as if he was having the time of his life. The art student could never quite allow himself to forget that Enjolras was dancing fairly close to him though, close enough for him to reach out and... no.  
As the strobe lit up the aspiring lawyer's face once more, Grantaire noticed a rather large glob of Courfeyrac's glitter on his cheek. Instinctively, he reached out for it and, when Enjolras almost recoiled, shouted, "Fairy dust!!" over the music, showing the blonde the spot of glitter that had been on his face. Enjolras didn't reply, only smiled very faintly and continued to dance.  
The smile that Grantaire returned didn't leave his face for the rest of the night, even when closing time was announced and he'd said a fond farewell to his new best friends ever in the world (as christened by an incredibly intoxicated Peter Pan).  
Not even as he staggered home between Eponine and Jehan, the three of them sufficiently pissed and his eyeliner spread halfway across his face. It only widened when Eponine said, "I knew you'd luffff him 'Taire, all thoss weesaggo when I said that. I'm gon start makin’ a scrapbook of your faces when he talks to you!!"  
Nodding her head, eyes half closed, she tightened her grip around Grantaire’s waist. Jehan nodded along with this decision too, before skipping off down the street, scattering the remainder of a bag of glitter he’d taken from Courfeyrac, calling, "YOU TOUCHED HIS FAAACE!!"  
The dishevelled pirate could only hope Alexander the Great was out of range as he chased the daft poet all the way to Eponine's apartment. Trying to be quiet, the trio pushed each other through the door and, mumbling cries of discomfort and rushed goodnights, instantly collapsed onto Eponine’s welcoming double bed. And that was what Grantaire remembered (eventually and vaguely) of his first Halloween at uni.

The next morning was hell, and he momentarily thanked a deity in which he did not believe that he didn't have a lecture. Neither Eponine nor Jehan were so lucky.  
"I don't think I can move without throwing up, how the hell am I supposed to go to a fucking interpretive dance workshop in 15 fucking minutes?!" Eponine grumbled, her alarm ringing shrilly for the fourth consecutive time. Grantaire rolled to his left and smashed the button roughly before rolling back quickly to his right and sending both his friends tumbling to the floor.  
"What the hell, 'Taire?!" Jehan moaned, struggling to his feet and wiping the sleep, and glitter, from his eyes.  
"As I recall you two both have somewhere to be, and that somewhere is not in bed!" he said smugly yet sleepily, burrowing further under the duvet.  
"We hate you forever! Get out of my bed you arse!" Eponine snapped, pulling on some form of all in one jumpsuit/leotard and tucking her knotted hair into a swift bun. Performing arts was a gruelling degree, but he knew she was made for it. Jehan on the other hand - studying literature (mostly poetry as if you couldn't guess) - glanced at his watch nonchalantly as he perched at the end of the bed. Grantaire nudged him with his toe, "And when do you need to leave, Monsieur Prouvaire?" he asked from beneath the sheets.  
"Hmm, about 5 minutes ago," the poet muttered, clearly not worried about being late. It was poetry after all; he could simply claim that he had been suddenly inspired by a passing pigeon or something.  
Eponine had somehow managed to make herself look presentable, not hard for her mind, last night’s makeup smudged just enough to look purposeful, and amazingly no dark circles in sight. She blew brief kisses to both of them before rushing out the door, stopping only to yell,  
"R, IF YOU'RE STILL IN MY BED WHEN I GET HOME I SWEAR I'LL MURDER YOU!!" from the middle of the corridor.  
Jehan laughed as he battled to pull the remaining flowers from his hair. His morning face and bed head were slightly less pleasant than that of Eponine: glitter covering just about every inch of him, hair standing up erratically all over the place, and what looked like the remains of some UV paint on his cheeks. Not even bothering to look in the mirror, the poet pulled an oversized shirt of Eponine's on over his tunic and topped off the ensemble with his pointed shoes from the night before.  
"You really are something, Jehan!" Grantaire exclaimed as the delicate man opened the door to leave. Jehan winked as he replied, "And don't you forget it!"  
The art student winced when the door slammed, head starting to throb, and piled a pillow on top of his head before succumbing to sleep once again. When he woke, the sun was high in the sky and his phone buzzed somewhere in the bed. After a moments struggle, he recovered it from inside the duvet cover for some reason and read the text Courfeyrac had just sent him. "Remember, remember, the 5th of November."  
Grantaire had vague memories in his thumping head of a drunken conversation that involved mentions of a bonfire... on a roof? At the Musain?! Surely Courfeyrac had been joking; they can't actually have received permission to do that! God he sounded so cool. For the next few days their new group was abuzz with excitement over this apparently infamous event, as Grantaire tried to recall what had been said about it at Halloween.  
"It's where we all met, properly anyway!" Combeferre had explained, having started the first of these nights three years ago in the heat of the moment with Enjolras and Courfeyrac.  
"And every year we seem to be add a few more members to our little family," Courf had continued with a cheesy smile, throwing a welcoming arm around Grantaire and Jehan.  
"Think of it as an initiation of sorts!" Bahorel exclaimed almost threateningly, winking at Feuilly to relieve the poor boy of his horrified expression. Grantaire had laughed nonchalantly, but his mind had been awash with both excitement and concern: he was being offered a first class ticket straight into Enjolras' friend group, officially, but there was always the chance he might ruin his chances and end up back where he began looming on the horizon. Damn his cynic's mind! Luckily, the aspiring artist found that he was not alone in his fear as Cosette, looking a tad fearfully at Marius, had asked, "Will there be tests?" Bless her.  
"Only of the drinking variety!" Bossuet interrupted, raising his glass with glee. A drunken Cosette, Grantaire had thought, that he would love to see.  
Naturally, Eponine didn't stop talking about the bonfire - or those planning it for that matter: "Ferre's just so clever though, R, like you have no idea! He says he's going to write a book one day and I think he should, he says he might even name a character after me!"  
Grantaire usually zoned out after the first few mentions of Combeferre, simply thankful that it wasn't still Marius Eponine pined over, transporting himself back instead to Halloween night to how good Enjolras had looked. It was probably the most insignificant detail but, among the blur of memories, one particular moment stood out. The warmth of pale skin under his fingertips as he had brushed the glitter from that magnificent face now smouldered softly under his skin, the feeling hadn't gone away.  
Grantaire ran a hand through his shaggy mop of hair as he wondered whether anyone else - bar Ep and Jehan obviously, had noticed. He certainly hoped not, and most of all he hoped that he hadn't offended Enjolras by invading his personal space or whatever (he seemed like he might care about that sort of thing). This worry still spun in his mind as he stood on the surprisingly spacious and sturdy roof of the ABC on November 5th, an hour early and armed with firelighters, a number of old newspapers and a few most likely illegal fireworks.  
He and Musichetta - who was just finishing her all-day shift - had been asked to help Courfeyrac set up for the night but, as they all knew by now, Courf wasn't one for sticking to his word.  
Grantaire got to work arranging various fold out chairs and brightly coloured cushions and beanbags around the beginnings of a makeshift fire in the metal pit, and was almost done when ‘Chetta called to him from the door he'd only just remembered to leave open.  
"Hey, Grantaire?" he wandered over in the direction of her rather loud voice, shivering slightly as the cool almost winterish breeze brushed his face. He had his beanie and a cardigan on but it was still going to be fucking freezing by the time the sun went down.  
"I was cleaning in the back and I found this in there, is it yours?" the dark eyed girl asked, gesturing to the shabby looking guitar in her hand with a fairly exhausted look.  
"Oh yeah, that's my baby!" he replied with a grin, he always kept at least one guitar in the cafe just in case. It must have been longer than Grantaire thought since he last played in the Musain, judging by the dust that had gathered on the strings as he reached out for it. The things you forget about when your mind has been otherwise occupied...  
Sitting the underused guitar to the side and making a mental note to hide it before the others arrived, Grantaire gestured to the roof.  
"What d’you think?" he asked the tired girl with a comforting smile.  
"It looks amazing! Although, I know you’re gay but... fairy lights?"  
She giggled as she nodded towards the railings and the flag pole - glowing beneath the setting sun - before leaning back against the heavy door behind her.  
"Oh yeah, them - too much time spent with a certain poet!"  
The fairy lights had been Jehan's idea completely actually, and he physically had not allowed Grantaire to leave his flat without them. The art student had just settled onto a beanbag and began toying with the idea of starting to build the fire, when his head snapped up, hearing heavy footsteps on the staircase, Musichetta coming round to greet the newcomer. The two heard Courfeyrac before he came into view.  
"How are my little elves?" he boomed, the classic grin audible in his tones.  
"Last I checked you were the elf, dear," ‘Chetta replied quickly, tossing the tall man in the doorway a pillow.  
"I'll have you know that Tinkerbell is a fairy and everyone knows that!" he declared, mouth falling open as he finished the sentence, finally stopped to take in his surroundings.  
"Woooah! Jesus Christ, Grantaire. You're doing this every year!"  
He sat down the massive case of beer he was carrying to continue to marvel at the art student’s work.  
“It’s nothing, man, don’t mention it,” Grantaire insisted, although the thought that someone appreciated his artistic work was enough to bring warmth to the cooling night.  
“If you two would care to stop flirting we should probably sort food and fireworks… and the actual fire before everyone arrives?” Musichetta interrupted, jabbing Courf in the arm, noticing the look of humour visible on Grantaire’s face. She added then, “I know right, flirts with anything that’s got a pulse, doesn’t he?” she nodded towards the man currently pointing a rocket directly into his own face.  
Grantaire could think of nothing worse than have the Casanova that was Courfeyrac have him in his sights. Musichetta and him laughed together and set about fetching bowls of snacks and arranging a home-made fireworks display which they very much hoped wouldn’t kill anyone later; all the while making sure that the man in question didn’t blow himself up.  
Eponine and Combeferre were the next two to arrive, the former letting out a gasp of, “Ooooh! Wow, guys, this is amazing!” as she came through the door. The two of them sat a couple of bags of drinks down by the deckchairs, ducking under the string of Jehan’s fairy lights strung from one flag pole to the other side of the roof.  
By the time everyone did arrive – and that took a considerable amount of time since Joly was on a placement; Jehan just had to finish this one poem; Feuilly was skyping his mum in Poland (who sounded like the sweetest woman in the world and had invited them all for Christmas, making them feel awful when they had to politely decline); and surprise, surprise, Enjolras had another speech to finish – the sun had already dipped below the horizon. The chilly dusk resulted in several unsightly knitted hats and scarves appearing from bags, Eponine having ‘forgot’ her jumper but finding herself happily under Combeferre’s arm, and Bahorel nearly sitting directly on top of the fire.  
“Jesus, it’s freezing!” Bossuet exclaimed, pulling Musichetta closer to him, Joly shuffling in too, “Remind me again why we do this?”  
“Because it’s a tradition!” Combeferre insisted, raising his glass.  
Eponine quickly whipped out her camera then, snapping a shot of the three huddled together, the flash nearly blinding the rest of them. Now she’d taken one picture she wouldn’t stop, Grantaire knew, as she held the camera out in front of her to take a rather close up shot of herself and Combeferre.  
The alcohol had long since been broken into and even the usually reluctant Enjolras had a drink in his hand, even if it was probably the lowest percentage beer you could get.  
“Zeez traditions of yours, I do not understand zem!” Feuilly announced, turning away momentarily from Jehan who was trying to teach him how to perfectly roast a marshmallow.  
“You’ll get there, kid!” Bahorel assured him, wincing as his toes began to sizzle slightly.  
That fire had been an absolute nightmare to start. In fact they were all ready to call it quits and accept the fact that they might freeze to death, until Enjolras turned up. It wasn’t surprising really, considering the way he could light up a room by simply entering, or set Grantaire’s face aflame with a mere look or mention of his name. As everyone had looked at him slightly peeved he’d managed it but thankful, he’d shrugged his shoulders and simply answered, “I was a scout,” before claiming the biggest and most comfortable looking beanbag. A beanbag fit for a chief, Grantaire mused as he glanced at him now.  
The way the firelight shone on his face as he spoke to Marius about the next protest should have been illegal; surely it wasn’t possible for someone to look that good – especially while being half-swallowed by a beanbag. Eponine must have noticed Grantaire’s eyes on Enjolras, as she slipped out from beneath Combeferre’s arm and into his own for a moment.  
“Feels like I haven’t seen you in aaages, babe!” she cooed, kissing his cheek, throwing one arm round his shoulders.  
“That’s because you’ve been with the marvellous ‘Ferre over there,” he replied with a smile, squeezing her tightly. Tipsy Eponine would never not be adorable.  
“Soooo,” she continued, lowering her voice, “how’s the whole you-know-who situation going? Getting anywhere?”  
She looked hopeful as Grantaire scrunched his nose for a second, shrugging, “Meh.”  
This obviously meant “not as good as I want it to be”, Eponine’s expression dropping to that of slight disappointment. She lowered her eyes, Grantaire looking away from her, and instead up at the glistening stars in the night sky. Its colour had changed from the smouldering orangey red of early evening, like the fire before them, to an unusual yet lovely shade of deep purple. When he raised his beer bottle, Eponine’s loud, tipsy voice was back.  
“You should go get your guitar!" her eyes were wide with the excitement of her idea. She had grabbed his forearm, him looking again at her, now with raised eyebrows, beer bottle mouth pressed to his lips, drink interrupted. He looked at her with a what-the-hell expression, knowing fine well that she’d nearly shouted this on purpose.  
Grantaire took a swig as their friends - or those who had heard anyway; Marius and Cosette were in their own lovey-dovey world, and Courfeyrac and Jehan were busy laughing themselves silly - looked at him expectantly and surprised. He flicked his eyes round a few of them, Enjolras included, who was actually looking back at him, obviously having heard Eponine's outburst.  
"You play, 'Taire?" Bahorel asked, an almost smirkish yet impressed grin showing here, before he gulped down more beer. Grantaire opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a few seconds as he smiled, reaching up with one hand to ruffle his beanie.  
"I- erm," a nervous laugh escaped him, "yeah, I do yeah."  
Great, now they'll be queuing to see my next gig, he thought. This is what he hadn't wanted; the embarrassment of humiliating himself in front of new friends and, more importantly, Enjolras.  
Eponine leaned across then, "He sings too, and he's bloody brilliant!"  
She shoved the art student playfully. He chuckled slightly, not wanting to seem annoyed. "Ep, come on..."  
"What? You are!"  
She giggled, Combeferre leaning in to be seen around her, "Must say, Grantaire, she's told me about you and if you're as good as, Ep, makes out then..." He raised his glass before drinking.  
Another nervous laugh sounded from Grantaire. Eponine continued though.  
"You've tried to hide it from these guys," she pointed round them all, eyes narrowed with a smile, "playing your gigs here in secret, or rather not playing them in case they find out."  
She jabbing at the fire with the poker, a wicked smile still painted on her face.  
"Oh hey, we didn't know about this, 'Taire!" Bossuet chirped up, "Tut tut."  
A few laughed before Eponine continued, "Yeah, sorry, Boss, only us special ones get the VIP tickets, right, Marius?"  
She winked in his direction as he got distracted from Cosette's kisses, "What?"  
They all, besides Grantaire, and perhaps Enjolras, laughed at his confusion.  
The art student glanced at the loved up Marius before doing the same to Enjolras, who was frowning at him. Unexpectedly, he spoke then.  
"Wait, you were the guy who was supposed to play at the pub that night. The guy you said about, Marius!"  
Enjolras was vaguely pointing at him, as Grantaire, embarrassed they had found out, nodded.  
"Yeah... Its kinda my secret way of making a bit money when I need it-"  
Eponine cut in again, getting more drunk by the second it would seem, "But alas, your secret is now out! So go get your guitar, we wanna hear you!"  
She emphasised this last sentence with more playful shoves on every word.  
Now Grantaire was nearly on his side from all her pushing, a grin showing as he laughed at the drunk girl, even if he was peeved she'd let slip his other talent.  
Performing on stage was one thing, he had a slot to fill and was meant to be there doing it and wanted to; playing for people he knew though felt more like showing off, and Grantaire, loud as he was, didn't like this.  
Eponine widened her eyes for a second at him; he knew exactly what she was thinking and why she had, even if drunkenly, brought up the subject. Enjolras was there.  
"Come on, 'Taire!" Marius had joined in now, catching on as Courfeyrac questioned what was happening.  
"Hm, what?" he sat more upright.  
"Grantaire can play... and sing, apparently," Bossuet filled him in.  
"Aw, mate, really? You gonna do us something?"  
Bossuet and Bahorel laughed at this.  
"Oh, haha!" Courfeyrac eyed the pair.  
The whole group was practically begging Grantaire now, some with words, some with looks. He didn’t dare catch Enjolras’ eye though.  
Screw it, he thought, I'm pissed, they're all pissed, who's gonna remember it...  
He failed to recall that his golden haired god hardly drank anything ever meaning he would probably remember the night in its entirety. But maybe, if Grantaire could get through a song or two alright, this might possibly leave a lasting impression in his mind. Who knew with Enjolras.  
The art student, leant up on one elbow, let his head fall back in a dramatic sigh, "Alright, I'll go fetch the fucking guitar, you happy?"  
Eponine clapped her hands and squealed, a low cheer rising from the group. Grantaire supposed he shouldn't let slip the opportunity to show off in front of the mighty Enjolras, and the others of course. Plus Eponine would make him regret not playing the next morning and forever after that if he didn't.  
Crossing to the heavy door – thank god it had been fixed open before the drinking began – he leant behind it to grab the guitar he’d hidden earlier. He clearly hadn’t hidden it very well, especially if Eponine - who he swore was half-blind sometimes – had spotted it there. Although, knowing his best friend and judging by the way she was exchanging gleeful looks with Jehan, she’d most likely planned this all in advance.  
“Hurry up, R! We wanna hear your dulcet tones!” Musichetta called eagerly; glad she’d prevented him from leaving the instrument back downstairs earlier. Grantaire took a breath and made his way back to the beanbag he’d been sprawling on; not noticing until now that it just so happened to be directly across from Enjolras’ beanbag.  
The group looked at him expectantly as he wracked his brain for a suitable song. The keen performer almost never suffered from stage fright but, at this moment, he found it difficult to prevent his hands from visibly shaking. The majority of his repertoire consisted of classic rock and some fairly depressing numbers; more suited to a much drunker audience and definitely none acceptable for the cultured ears of Enjolras. God, he was gonna hate this and just think he was totally pathetic… Fuck. But then a song came to mind that, Grantaire realised, fitted the blonde god sitting opposite him somewhat. Well, some of the lyrics anyway.  
Wiping the remainder of the dust from its neck, Grantaire strummed the guitar before commenting,  
“It’s kinda out of tune, gimme a minute.”  
“Just play the damn song!” Eponine moaned, urging him not to be embarrassed.  
“You’re not getting out of this one now!” Bahorel insisted, looking at him eagerly.  
Grantaire decided to get it over with, before they all started fucking chanting at him or something.  
Finally stilling his hands, Grantaire began to play the short introduction before starting to sing; the sharp sound of the now in tune strings mixed with his gravelly slightly out of practice voice pierced the darkness. The sky was black as pitch now, save the stars, but the fire still burned strong.  
Everyone looked on, and if Grantaire’s eyes had been open he would have noticed their different expressions fixed to their faces: Eponine’s pride; Jehan’s romanticised gaze; Cosette’s glee; but especially Enjolras’ unique look of happy surprise. But he wasn’t looking. Grantaire’s eyes were closed, his hair falling into them as he lost himself in the music.  
“Great expectations, everybody’s watching you..."  
Everyone would think he was singing this because the lyrics fitted the moment, when his reason was entirely different. Grantaire could feel all the eyes on him, praying he didn’t fuck up a chord or his voice would go. He wanted so much to see the reaction, scared by the silence and wondering whether everyone had just stood up and left him on the roof. Although if this was true, it meant there was no longer anyone watching him. He chanced a look, gazing into the fire so as not to make eye contact with anyone. Out the corner of his eye he could see a few smiles, making his nerves melt ever so slightly.  
“Johnny come lately, the new kid in town…”  
The silence was disturbed briefly at this point as Feuilly excitedly whispered, “I know zis song!”  
Thank god someone at least recognises The Eagles, Grantaire smiled.  
“Everybody loves you, so don't let them down…” Grantaire let his eyes close again as he continued to sing. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and warm hair tickled his cheek – Eponine. She never put him off, only made him feel supported. He so badly wanted to look at Enjolras but – hoping his desire didn’t convey through his voice yet, in a way, hoping it did - somehow managed to hold off until the end of the song.  
“There’s a new kid in town.”  
Strumming the guitar a final time and leaving the sound to resonate around the circle, Grantaire finally allowed himself to look at the group in front of them. By this time each of his friends – old and new – looked back at him with either a wide grin or an open mouth.  
“Wow R, that was amazing!” Cosette enthused, annoyed at Marius for not letting her know about this sooner, and everyone nodded in agreement. He shrugged off the positivity; he never had been one for taking compliments easily.  
What was really making him uncomfortable though was the almost unreadable look momentarily plastered onto Enjolras’ glowing face as he had caught his eye. He seemed happy – for once - but he looked confused, and even angry? Shit, Grantaire was never going to understand what was going on inside that beautiful golden head. Their eyes had only met for a moment and Grantaire was most likely severely overthinking this – he probably hadn’t even meant to look at him.  
“Well done, babe,” Eponine kissed Grantaire’s cheek, distracting the art student from his cynicism, before he laid his guitar behind him, smiling. The others all seemed impressed.  
“Tah, Ep.”  
A voice rose above the chattering about Grantaire then though.  
“Ok, ok, R’s so great and I’m sure we’ll be hearing a lot more of that voice in the not so distant future!” Courfeyrac interrupted, the excitement and amount of alcohol he’d consumed visible on his face, “but for now,” he continued, jumping out of his seat, “FIREWORKS!”  
A “Woooo” came from Eponine, nearly deafening Grantaire, and Cosette squealed, “Oh yaay!”, clapping her hands. A couple of the guys – including Enjolras, Grantaire noted (Christ, could he not let the guy slip for a minute?!) - scrambled up to help the totally pissed Courfeyrac. He definitely was not safe to go near explosive flammables with a lit match.  
“This is to celebrate the initiation and joining into our group of tha noo members we have collect’d over the last monthor so,” he raised a bottle of vodka and shotted down a gulp.  
Eponine grabbed Grantaire and Jehan, squeezing their shoulders, “Yaaay guys!”  
Both of them laughed at her, focussing their attention back onto Courfeyrac as he continued.  
“To the new l’Amis de l’ABC!”  
Everyone around the fire repeated this line back to him before raising their own bottles and glasses, swigging down the contents. The older members of their group shot a few winks in the direction of Grantaire, Eponine, Jehan and Cosette, Courfeyrac – momentarily forgetting the fireworks – jogging over to hug them, shouting “You’re part of the famly now guys!”  
It was with a hushed “Oooo” from a few of them and the burst of colour that signalled the first firework going off, lighting up the rooftop under the still glistening night sky, Grantaire daring another glance at his god, still illuminated by the firelight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies its taken us so long to update, this chapter was really hard to write for some reason... blame Enjolras.

ONE YEAR LATER

“You guys ready?”  
“Yupp,” Grantaire nodded, smiling lopsidedly and looking sideways at Bahorel.   
“Well good luck, as always.”  
Courfeyrac hit Grantaire’s arm and nodded at Bahorel before heading back over to the group table. Looking back, the art student saw Cosette open her mouth to shout something over to him but, before she had the chance he called, “I told you Taylor Swift is a no-go, blondie, I don’t care how much you love Pontmercy!”   
He made sure to say this as kindly as possible but let’s be serious, there was no way he was singing Taylor Swift in public, even if it was ‘their song’.  
“R, come on, the barricade awaits!”  
Bahorel was on stage now, guitar strap being flung up and over his shoulder; upon discovering that Bahorel could play bass a few months after bonfire night last year, Grantaire had stated firmly: “We’re starting a band.” And they had, after roping in a few other students who were interested.  
Grantaire arrived at the stage – which they’d nicknamed the ‘Barricade’ for some reason - just in time to hear the band be introduced - eloquently as ever – by Musichetta, “You know who these guys are by now, and if you don’t well… that’s just your loss because they’re freakin’ great!”   
Had she left the stage before actually saying the band name? The microphone crackled again and yep, she had.   
“Please welcome - Fraternité!” she said.  
“That’s with a capital R!” Bahorel added loudly, taking a swig from his glass before setting it back down on top of his amp; he winked at Grantaire.  
Musichetta put the microphone back onto the stand but, as she had lately been picking up Bossuet’s terribly clumsy tendencies, when she went to leave the stage she ever so elegantly caught her foot on the stand and sent it tumbling to the ground. The reasonably full bar resonated with stifled laughs at Musichetta and groans at the screech which came out of the speakers from the microphone, Bahorel guffawing unashamed. The girl hurried back to the bar saying “Sorry” over and over again as, after collecting the thankfully undamaged microphone and stand, Grantaire – guitar firmly in hand - finally assumed his position on the podium-like stage he’d come to know so well. He wasn’t even going to think about what the podium reminded him of right now. Nope.   
Adjusting the microphone till it was level with his mouth, Grantaire cleared his throat and began to speak.   
"As your lovely barmaid said, we’re Fraternité," he smiled as cheers sounded from the back table, "and please don't laugh at how many times we play songs about fire tonight - it is November fifth after all! So yeah, this first one’s called Light My Fire."   
The art student glanced his eyes over the back table then quickly before turning to his band mates as the drummer, Montparnasse, counted them in and their set started.  
Surprisingly, no one complained about the Guy Fawkes theme; even after they'd made their way through Ring of Fire, an acoustic version of Firework (“If you're not gonna play Taylor Swift at least play Katy Perry for me,” Cosette had bargained, appearing at the front of the ‘barricade’ as one song finished), and a lovely little song called Fireworks Explode which just so happened to remind Grantaire of a certain someone. But he still wasn't thinking about him.   
After narrowly avoiding being forced to sing the Spongebob Campfire Song Song (“Let's save that one for later, Boss”) they decided to end on the very song Grantaire had played to the l’amis only one year before; but this time he didn't have to think of himself as the ‘new kid in town’. Instead Grantaire sang it to all of the most likely terrified new students as a form of welcome and reassurance: “Welcome to the next part of your life, I know it's scary as hell but - trust me - it's gonna be amazing!”   
He also sang it nostalgically, thinking back to the initiation (it still sounded like a cult: membership tattoos had been mentioned frequently though lately) rooftop bonfire when Courfeyrac had almost blown them up with fireworks; and how they'd all agreed it was worth risking limbs because they were so beautiful.   
A lot had changed in a year - not exactly in the ways Grantaire had imagined or wished for, but had still changed. Friendships had most definitely strengthened, one in particular turning into something more: he smiled as he saw Combeferre pressing a kiss to Eponine's forehead. No one could question how wonderfully happy they made one another, and Grantaire couldn't have been more thrilled when she'd finally broken the news, even though he’d guessed what was going on months before. He'd even joined in with her adorable happy dance, but they'd promised to keep that between them.   
One thing had remained the same though, he noted, as the quiet rumble of applause died down and he placed his guitar back on its stand, Bahorel and their band mates stepping off the stage with him.   
“See you tomorrow, Grantaire, Bahorel, yeah?” Montparnasse said as he and the band’s keyboarder headed over to the bar.  
“Yeah, see you later mate.”  
Grantaire glanced back over to the back table, at the still unreadable blue eyes belonging to the person he'd almost given up thinking about all together over the past few months. By this point, after the past year, the frustrated art student was constantly on the brink of taking drastic action against his ever-growing feelings; constantly torn between forgetting about any tiny glimmer of hope he had for the seemingly oblivious Enjolras and physically grabbing him by the bright red collar and shouting, “I LIKE YOU, OK?” before running away to join the circus. He felt stupid sometimes about his fixation, like he was still at school with a stupid crush on a stupidly hot person. Stupid Enjolras.  
While his inner monologue battled it out, Grantaire’s as yet only slightly inebriated friend group were throwing generous compliments left right and centre.   
“I swear, guys, you get better every time we hear you!” Bossuet congratulated, thumping both Grantaire and Bahorel on the back in an almost aggressively friendly manner and announcing that the next round was on him.  
“The lack of Taylor Swift disappointed us,” Cosette gestured to herself and Marius with a mock sad face as Bossuet promptly left for the bar with Courfeyrac – both proclaiming the band’s brilliance as they went, “but as Katy Perry more than made up for it, we’re willing to forgive you!” She kissed the art student’s cheek sweetly as Marius reached across to shake Bahorel’s hand firmly, then Grantaire’s. God he hoped that garishly bright pink lipstick had remained securely on her lips – well hers and her boyfriends’ anyway.   
Jehan, sitting furthest away from the two band members and trying to cover up the fact that he may or may not have had pride-tears in his eyes, considered getting up from his seat before realising the impossibility of getting past the jumble of intertwined limbs belonging on one side to Joly and Musichetta and on the other to Marius and Cosette. Instead he mouthed a cheery, “Well done, darling! Or darlings,” catching Bahorel’s eye, who grinned before gulping down some beer.   
Next to show their appreciation by way of throwing herself at Grantaire was his long-suffering best friend.  
“Oof, Jesus, Ep you trying to kill me?!” he exclaimed as she locked her arms in a vice like grip around his waist.  
“Believe me, babe, if I’d wanted to do that I would’ve a looong time ago!” she replied, “You guys were just especially good tonight, is all.”   
If he was honest, Grantaire hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary about tonight’s performance; maybe the rest of the group were simply feeling the nostalgia too. Still, the way the worryingly strong (he felt a pang of sympathy for poor Combeferre) yet undoubtedly adorable girl attached to him was grinning as if she knew something he didn’t worried him. Thankfully not keeping him in suspense, she leant up to whisper in his ear.  
“Never heard that second fireworks song before, inspiring lyrics eh?” she nudged her forehead against his unshaven chin.  
“Don’t know what you mean!” he exclaimed. Of course Eponine would have guessed why he sang that – she and Jehan were the only ones who still knew about Grantaire’s continuing Enjolras-related struggle now after all. Marius hadn’t mentioned it in months so all signs pointed to his loss of faith in anything ever happening between the two opposites. If only it were that easy; just because it wasn’t in any way feasible or likely to happen any time soon, didn’t stop Grantaire wanting it. Before he had time to dwell on it too much more, Combeferre caught his hand in a firm grip with a smile.  
“If I didn’t know any better I’d be jealous,” he commented, gesturing to the arm Eponine still had tightly wrapped around his waist, “Nah but seriously, you lot were great tonight – everyone thought so; even those of us who are, ahem, not so vocal about our encouragements I’m sure…” his eyes cast across to the opposite side of the table where a clueless Enjolras was helping Musichetta and Bahorel lecture Joly into believing that he didn’t have the flu… again.  
Grantaire had noticed Combeferre trying to make Enjolras seem ‘more nice’ lately, probably because the art student and him had been arguing more frequently over the past couple of months. Not that this was a new thing for anyone.  
Grantaire trusted that Eponine hadn’t been fool enough to tell her boyfriend anything though, because Combeferre’s smile was not a knowing one; only a supportive-friend kind of one. The kind of one that said, “Can you just give him a chance and get on? Please?”   
“Not everyone can be as nice as you, ‘Ferre!” Eponine informed him, nudging playfully at his side and collapsing into laughter as he proceeded to tickle her.   
Since Fraternité had finished their set, people had begun to slowly filter out of the bar – most of them headed for the bonfire thrown probably illegally by the students union in a nearby park – until only the l’Amis remained. It felt nice to Grantaire that people stayed to hear the band before leaving; they had gotten a bit of a name for themselves in the uni at least since they started playing together.   
Courfeyrac came bounding back from the bar then, suddenly announcing:  
“They’re not closing up yet but Bossuet’s taking this round upstairs.”   
The girls – including Jehan - leapt up almost immediately, knowing what this meant, Feuilly following close behind as his still-mentor Bahorel’s husky voice boomed as he headed to the staircase.  
“To the roof!!”  
Grantaire waited behind a moment, only to grab his guitar and the bags of snacks they’d left aside in the kitchen under Musichetta’s watch, before running up the narrow stairs and almost but not quite forgetting to wedge the door open to allow them to leave later.   
Last year, not one of them had even attempted to make it home until the next afternoon, despite almost all of them having classes to attend. Judging by the quantity of alcohol that met Grantaire on the other side of the even heavier than last year door (they’d had it replaced due to damage, for which they were all equally responsible; if you bet Bahorel he couldn’t put a hole in something while drunk he was bound to at least try to prove you wrong) they were in for a rough night and an even rougher morning.   
This year, the task of setting up had fallen to Eponine and Cosette who had, to everyone’s surprise, become near-inseparable friends. Jehan and Grantaire knew this was because Eponine now had Combeferre and was no longer pining over the unavailable Marius, not that they told anyone this though. Speaking of the poet, his fairy lights had once again made an appearance but the usual chairs had been replaced in favour of piles and piles of duvets, cushions and blankets. There was also a school-like bench along one side of the already lit fire – the whole thing looking like the start of an awful teen horror film minus the forest.  
“Hmm… perhaps not quite up to last years’ standards,” Courfeyrac began, winking at the art student, “but I’ve no complaints girls! Let the festivities begin!”  
“Well I for one love it! And the two of you!” Jehan practically sang, grabbing both Eponine and Cosette and sending the three of them tumbling into the blanket mountain, giggling wildly.  
“Now R, about that song you promised we’d play…” Bahorel suddenly appeared at his side, arm round his shoulders, an unconvincingly innocent look on his dopy face. Without further ado, Grantaire sighed and took a seat on the bench beside his l’amis, guitar still in his hand.   
“Come on, R!”  
“Give us some acoustic!”  
The group of cheery students surrounded him, laughing gleefully as he began to strum the introduction to the song from the children’s – yes children’s – tv show.   
“I’m not singing this unless you all join in!” he argued, postponing the first verse a little longer but continuing to play as he talked.  
“Just fucking sing it!” Courfeyrac retorted, clearly impatient for the sing-a-long.  
“Let’s gather round the campfire, and sing our campfire song…”   
Jesus was he actually doing this? He made warning eyes at Eponine as she searched in her pocket for her camera.  
“Our C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song,” Grantaire’s voice almost broke with laughter, but he managed to continue until he needed the help of someone else.  
“Feuilly!” he called upon the entirely confused exchange student.  
“C-M-P-FE-I WHAT?!”  
The entire group was doubled over in laughter at his innocent shock and surprise. But Grantaire continued; he’d had the next part planned out all evening.  
“Enjolras!”  
Silence.  
“Good!”   
Everyone fell about laughing even more at this - Grantaire almost tumbling into the fire because his eyes were so full of tears and his sides hurt - and naturally the song was never finished.   
The art student spent the night drifting in and out of conversations and getting merrily - but not exceedingly - drunk. He'd been silently wondering when Courfeyrac planned on breaking out the child friendly fireworks (“After last year we're taking no chances!” Joly had stated) when the topic turned to looming exams. To no one's surprise it had been Enjolras who brought that cheery subject up, he was like a dad checking up on his kids; kind of cute in a weird sort of way. Everyone groaned in unison, the loudest of these coming from Bahorel; now only a few bad marks away from flunking completely.   
They went around their circle, each student describing their upcoming projects as quickly and in as least detail as humanly possible. They all seemed to be in similar positions: Joly had another placement, Jehan had almost finished his hundredth poem of the year, Eponine had a big showcase coming up that she'd just roped everyone into coming to see.  
"You're my friends and you shall support me!" she demanded as she lay with her head against Combeferre's shoulder.   
"I've got this massive report due on-" Marius began to say, but Bossuet just had to interrupt him.  
"Right, hands up if you remember what Pontmercy's studying!" he called, looking around the rooftop at the vacant expressions. Not a single hand was raised; not even Cosette could recall what mind-numbingly boring degree her boyfriend was partaking in; though maybe that was the alcohol.  
"Uh, of course I know, it's uh... sorry baby," she shrugged, trying to contain her amusement. She didn't need to though, as the rest of them erupted in laughter moments later, even Enjolras had to hide his face behind a blanket.  
"That's it, I'm finding new friends!" Marius announced, crossing his arms, jokingly.  
"Well," Grantaire said, holding a marshmallow above the flames in attempt to roast it, "I've got a project due at the end of next month and it’s all portrait stuff and, eh, I was wondering if maybe, could I, uh, can I use you guys? Like, can I draw you?"   
He looked at his feet, suddenly and unusually shy.   
"Oh god yes!" Musichetta was the first to answer, "I've always fancied myself as something of a model." Joly and Bossuet rolled their eyes almost simultaneously, even though they knew she was being overly funny, "We know," they acknowledged with matching sighs.  
"How about the rest of you?" Grantaire ventured. His art usually remained a private matter to be honest but - as this project had to be personal - he could think of nothing better than to do portraits of his closest friends. The response from the remainder of the group seemed unanimous and even, incredibly, Enjolras agreed – kind of… not really. The “Mmm, yeah” of an answer was completely sarcastic and unenthusiastic.   
Grantaire raised an eyebrow, staring at him; he was expecting the proud leader to say something like he’d be too busy with his protests or coursework or something, anything, which would get him out of it. Not blatantly make fun of him in front of everyone.  
"Wow, an agreement from Enjolras, now that’s a first for me," the art student said almost instantly; it was instinct to answer the leader back now - and everyone else expected it. “Not that you mean it of course, Enjolras, do you?”  
"Here we go..." Combeferre groaned as he braced himself for what would follow, his earlier effort ruined.  
"This better not end up like the pizza toppings situation," Courfeyrac muttered, just loud enough for them all to hear.  
"What d’you mean?” Enjolras looked as if he was trying to avoid the comments from the others and just interrogate Grantaire. It was like he hadn’t even noticed how sarcastic he’d sounded. The art student was used to the stern frown he was getting shown him now.  
“Oh for god’s sake, Enjolras, come one. You’re mocking me and being a dick, as usual. I ask you guys to do something for me and they all agree but you wont? What, my art too politically unimportant for you?”  
Grantaire snatched his beer bottle up from the cool cement floor then, swigging down a load of it as the golden headed leader continued.  
“Excuse me? I just said I’d do your painting thing, what else d’you want me to say?”  
That was out of line, and he knew it, even if he didn’t show it. Everyone else knew it too. They knew he’d been joking when he agreed. Eponine opened her mouth to defend but Combeferre put a gently restraining hand on her arm, “Enj…”  
He shook his head slightly at his friend as the rest of the group remained silent.  
Grantaire had hear the edge in Enjolras’ voice yet still, the drunken art student didn’t want to back down. There was a line to what they usually disagreed on, and this was crossing it; this was more personal and Grantaire was surprised by how much it bothered him. He was too stubborn to let this go, in fact they both were; the reason why they butted heads so fucking often.  
Over the past year their debates – a more fitting word would be arguments, being honest - had become infamous amongst the group, spanning hours – days even. Grantaire knew this was absolutely the worst way possible he could have chosen to get into Enjolras’ good books – he knew he never would actually, the way he took digs at him – but it did get him the desired attention he wanted from the leader, even if it wasn’t at all affection or friendly.   
There was no way Grantaire could describe why he picked these arguments with his ‘train god’, but it gave him a spark of excitement to get such strong reactions from the blonde.   
Why Enjolras put up with all his pathetic fighting-over-nothing shit and didn’t just ignore Grantaire he didn’t get. Maybe he just wanted to always be right, in fact no, the art student knew fine well Enjolras always wanted to be right and would go out of his way to prove himself. Grantaire’s mind jumped back to their first ever group night out then, at the Musain over a year ago, and when he had been shown to be right and Enjolras had just let it slip. At the time Grantaire had thought this a good thing, a sign that Enjolras wasn’t the stubborn stand-off-ish bastard he’d come to know him as now over the past twelve months.   
Despite this though, he still couldn’t help but want Enjolras; the number of nights he lain awake fantasizing about endless way he could make his golden haired god forgive him for all the fighting and get him to actually like him. But the blonde god of a man probably thought the worst about him by now; stupid, whiney, childish Grantaire, the scruffy art student who isn’t worth the bother.  
Yet, if Enjolras did think this about him, Grantaire thought, then why would he keep up the pointless debates? There was a question he wanted answering, badly.  
“Whatever, man… You’re so obviously making fun of me, I mean what is your problem? So I don’t agree with your political views or any-”  
“What has that got to do with this?!”  
Their voices were getting louder with each further comment they made.  
“Guys…” Combeferre again.  
“You know what, screw it, never mind,” the art student crossed his arms, sighing heavily. A couple of the others in the group sprung up quiet mutterings of conversations now, trying not to act awkward and fed up around the two arguers. Grantaire knew, from Eponine, that the group hated them coming to blows all the fucking time, and didn’t get why the art student felt the need to tease Enjolras with his comments about his contrasting views and opinions.   
“No, what were you gonna say, Grantaire? I wanna hear this.”  
The art student shot the leader a confused and angry look. No matter how much he craved these moments of Enjolras’ eyes on him, he didn’t half want to punch him in the face sometimes. It took a couple of seconds of staring Enjolras straight in the eye before he answered him.  
“Just because I voice my opinions on your views does not give you the right to assume that what you do is more important than what I do in my life. Art to me is what politics and all that shit is to you, yeah? So maybe that’ll make you get why I want my friends to help me out with this, because they, like my art, are what’s important to me, Enjolras.”  
Still glaring across at the golden haired man, Grantaire saw Enjolras’ expression harden, lips tightening as his eyes stayed focussed on him. If he, Enjolras, could find a way to answer the art student back after he had discussed feelings and some emotion then it really would be a miracle. Enjolras… feeling. No fucking way.  
“Well you may disagree with my opinions, Grantaire… but I’d disagree with anyone who thinks you’ll actually finish this project of yours.”  
Their eyes met with a ferocious spark then. Eponine had scrunched her face into a look of disgust at Enjolras as she shot a rather unpleasant term across the fire at him. Frowns of disagreement and shocked expressions showed around the group.  
“Mate, come on, that’s not fair…” Combeferre was still trying to make Enjolras act a bit more human - if that was possible.  
Neither the art student nor the leader seemed able to think of anymore witty comebacks like they always did after this. Grantaire took a long drink of the beer in his hand, wishing it were something stronger, feeling Eponine’s hand tight on his shoulder who was still glaring furiously across at Enjolras.   
Usually their arguments made Grantaire hate him a little bit more each time, knowing he was losing any chance of even mere friendship more and more with every snide remark. Maybe it was himself he should hate, Grantaire thought; maybe arguing with Enjolras was his brain’s way of weaning him off the god slowly. This time, however, he couldn’t hate him, somehow; Grantaire found Enjolras’ last words to be more of a challenge, giving him a thirst and a burning longing to prove himself to the leader. He still wanted to hit him square in his perfect face mind, but he also wanted to jump across and kiss him. Christ those lips still did things to him… Most of all though, Grantaire wanted to paint him.   
Of course he'd had this thought many a time before, but never this strongly had he wanted to capture an expression. The way the firelight shone onto his golden face and combined with the natural flames already visible in his eyes and cheeks; he must've been cold, surely not blushing.   
“Well I suppose I’ll just have to prove you wrong,” Grantaire forced his eyes to stay locked on Enjolras, looking him square in the face. The fire must have danced up too high and made Enjolras look like he was ever so slightly smiling, either that or Grantaire was more drunk than he realised.  
The blatant lack of faith from Enjolras hurt – especially since the leader made it so clear how much faith he had in everyone else – but now Grantaire was determined to prove himself, wanting to be worthy of Enjolras’ friendship and acceptance – like that would actually ever happen, the art student thought.   
It was probably Grantaire’s own fault, he thought, why he repelled the blonde as much as he did; he knew he’d regret trying to get his attention via arguments and disputes sooner or later…  
The group’s unbearable silence was broken then by Courfeyrac, clearing his throat a bit too loudly, asking: “Erm, sooo, anyone ready for fireworks?”  
Everyone seemed to reanimate themselves simultaneously, Marius rising awkwardly and pulling Cosette to her feet beside him; Bossuet doing the same with both Joly and Musichetta.   
“Yeah, definitely man!” Bahorel called, already searching for his lighter in his pocket. This was everyone’s usual act after an argument between Enjolras and Grantaire; pretend like it hasn’t happened.  
“You are not lighting them this year though, Courf! No way!” Jehan rose from his blanket fort (he had a serious dislike for shouting) with a wary expression, chasing after him.  
“I swear, you two are better than a soap sometimes!” Musichetta attempted to joke even if it wasn’t that funny, elbowing a stony-faced Enjolras teasingly. All of a sudden, everything seemed to revert back to the way it had been before the argument – and if Enjolras seemed a little quieter and Grantaire a little less opinionated than usual then no one mentioned it, except Eponine.   
As she and the art student leant against the railings surrounding the rooftop, fresh drinks in their hands and fireworks (safely lit from Joly’s assigned distance by Combeferre) exploding brightly in the sky above - and most likely getting them into trouble by waking the whole neighbourhood - she squeezed his wrist gently.  
“You’ll speak to me tomorrow, right? About it?” she whispered, gazing up at the gloomy sky – they had unfortunately missed the sunset this year. Grantaire sensed the worry in his best friend’s voice and so hugged her quickly, nodding.  
“Tomorrow, yeah,” he agreed.   
The fire burned on until the early hours of the morning – after drinking games were lost and won and all of the marshmallows had been either consumed or accidentally incinerated – until they decided they were far too drunk to continue being awake. Grantaire hadn’t yet fallen asleep but, as he looked around he couldn’t resist picking up Eponine’s camera and snapping a quick picture of his dead-to-the-world friends.   
Cosette had curled herself in a hedgehog-like ball on Marius’ chest and his fingers were lost in her hair; Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet were nothing but a pile of intertwined limbs, as ever; Combeferre and Eponine had found themselves holding each other tightly on the only beanbag with his head on her shoulder and Grantaire would’ve been lying if he said they didn’t look like the most adorable thing he’d ever seen; Bahorel had oh-so-gracefully face-planted across a double duvet on the ground with Feuilly at his feet; and Jehan had rolled his slender self up gracefully in his flowery blanket. As for Courfeyrac: Grantaire could only assume that the snoring pile of duvets and pillows in the corner was the man in question. His mind buzzed with both sleep-deprivation and alcohol but he was sure he’d missed someone – which is probably why he jumped a foot in the air when a voice sounded beside him in the half-light. Enjolras; still beautiful despite being rough from the cold autumn air, and bonfire smoke.  
“They won’t thank you for that.”   
Grantaire could’ve sworn he was asleep only moments before. It proved difficult to decide whether or not Enjolras was drunk but, judging by the way his head swayed when he failed to hold it, Grantaire decided that he was – but perhaps not quite as drunk as him. He didn’t sound angry though, incredibly, which surely was a good thing, but then nothing showed on his face to suggest he felt otherwise so...  
If the argument earlier hadn’t taken place, then the art student would be giddy with excitement right now, at the fact he and Enjolras were the only two awake.  
“They’d all do the same,” Grantaire tried to joke, looking at his watch and not being surprised when he saw it was nearly 6am. The sun was rising and he could hear the beginnings of birdsong.   
The two didn’t speak for a moment, Grantaire wondering how Enjolras felt about the dispute, and wanting to say something but not knowing what. Strange, how the leader could make him feel so incredibly angry, yet still make Grantaire long to please him.   
Both men were watching the fire slowly fizzle out, and the art student thought that Enjolras must have fallen asleep again until he heard him mutter bluntly yet clearly: “I’m sorry.” Grantaire hadn’t expected that; this made his insides explode with an excited rush.   
He looked across at him, the flawless face remaining unemotional and the icy blue eyes failing to meet his own. Grantaire had nothing to say in return: he couldn’t even muster a simple thanks. Instead he attempted a smile, but the weary leader had already sunk from the bench and closed his eyes, leaving Grantaire alone with his now terribly confused thoughts. It struck him then how weird the situation was; everyone else was asleep, he and Enjolras were the only two awake, Enjolras had actually apologised to him, before saying nothing else and going back to sleep…   
But he had said sorry. And this forced Grantaire’s smile into a grin. Progress – hopefully - finally. When Grantaire managed to get some sleep eventually, his drunken dreams were filled with golden hair and fireworks and bonfire light.

“He said what?!” Eponine stared at Grantaire in disbelief, her mouth open wide as she heaved yet another bag of rubbish over her shoulder. They were the only remaining amis on the roof, now, as the others had quickly scurried off either to mentally prepare themselves to not puke during their dreaded morning after lectures or to sleep in their own beds.  
“I told you – he said sorry!” Grantaire insisted, still disbelievingly, huffing as he got tangled up in Jehan’s stupid fairy lights for the fifth time. The roof had closely resembled a bombsite a few short hours before but, with regular breaks and several trips downstairs for the strongest coffee they could find, the pair had finally made a dent in the debris.  
“Are you sure though, babe?” she asked as she started rolling up one of the dozen duvets, “I mean, Enjolras doesn’t say sorry… ever!”  
“I think I know that better than most, Ep,” he replied, throwing the lights in a bag and crossing to help her, “but I swear to god that’s what I heard.”  
“Ah, that’s what you heard, and how drunk were you exactly?” she raised her eyebrows, wincing as the action visibly worsened her headache.  
“Not that drunk …” Grantaire lied, trying to push away the symptoms of his own hangover as he swept the remains of their fire into a bucket. He’d felt remarkably fresh when he’d first woken up – probably still being affected by Enjolras’ apology - but that hadn’t lasted long.  
“Oh really?” the exhausted-looking girl stopped what she was doing for a moment to grab her camera, flicking through several blurry pictures before holding it out, “and I suppose you were completely sober when you did this, then?” she couldn’t hide her amusement.   
Grantaire cringed as he pressed play on the video which showed two extremely inebriated men (himself and Courfeyrac) leaning over the edge of the railings – one stretching his arms out wide while the other clung to his waist – and both singing/wailing “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic at the top of their lungs.  
“Oh dear god I think I’m gonna throw up.”   
He couldn’t stop himself from saying, collapsing onto the remaining pillows and covering his face with both hands.  
“Aww don’t be so hard on yourself, R, I for one thought you made a lovely Rose!” Eponine just managed to say through her laughter, sitting down next to him and ruffling his hair.  
“Ok so I was drunk – no – I was very extremely drunk,” the art student finally admitted, “but he definitely apologised! Hah, he Apollo-gised – get it?”   
This time Grantaire was the one talking through his laughter, quite proud of his own joke.  
“Oh you’re hilarious, abandon the art now and become a comedian.”   
Eponine’s deadpan humour was always at its best after a night of drinking. Her mention of art did spark a memory, though.  
“Shit. Shitshitshit fuck,” Grantaire began to panic, damn him and his stupid plans to impress.  
“What is it? What did you do?” he saw Eponine’s wide-eyed confusion.  
“I said I’d prove him wrong, didn’t I? Enjolras..” he ran a hand erratically through his untidy hair, desperately hoping the answer would be no.  
“You did that, so you better get painting dear!” she replied with a smile, tossing a pillow at him.  
“Ughh!” he leant against her, trying to imagine where the hell he’d find the time and supplies and simply the willpower to paint every single one of his friends; and those were his problems before he even considered the Enjolras situation. As if she’d read his mind – not uncommon for them – Eponine asked immediately:  
“How’re you gonna paint him? Oh my god paint him on the train, or just include something to do with trains!” she demanded, eyes wide.  
“Why? He doesn’t-”  
“Because he’s your Train God, duh!”  
“I thought we’d stopped with that name? Besides, I haven’t seen him on the train in months!” This much was true, Grantaire had in fact only spotted Enjolras on the train a couple of times since their first brief encounter – and he’d always been in a separate carriage. Also, much to Eponine and Jehan’s disgust, he still hadn’t found out whether or not the law student had even noticed him that day last year and Grantaire had decided it was far too late anyway to just casually bring it up now; not that Enjolras would even listen to him.  
“Well, you’re great at what you do, I’m sure you’ll think of something!” she kissed his cheek and stood up, holding out her hand to pull him up too.  
“Hmm, yeah,” he replied distantly, thinking back to the short but heated argument that was unlike any of the others momentarily before asking, “Hey, ‘Ponine?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Where’d you and Cosette get all these duvets, anyway?” he gestured to the pile before picking one up to declare, “Wait a minute - this one’s mine!”  
“Let’s just say we know where you all keep your spare keys!” she winked slyly, “Ooh and did you know that Joly, ‘Chetta and Boss have a king-size bed?! And you’ll never guess what we foun-”  
He cut her off before she could finish.  
“Blah, no. Nope. I’m not listening, if I don’t need to know I don’t want to know!”   
He stuck his fingers in his ears as and physically ran away from her.   
“Lalalalala, I’m not listening!” he called as she chased him round in circles, both having to stop though due to sureness that they’d both be sick if they continued.   
When Grantaire finally gave in out of pure curiosity and allowed Eponine to whisper what she’d clearly been dying to tell someone, he vowed that he would never again be curious about the trio’s famous polyamorous relationship.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a good few weeks later before the group managed to get together again for a drink and a night out, what with looming deadlines and rehearsals - on Eponine's part - taking up the majority of their time. Grantaire had spent nearly every waking hour planning and preparing for his art gallery showing, which was now in two weeks, yet he still hadn't completed his folio; a must if he was to stick to his word about proving Enjolras wrong. God, Enjolras…  
Everything had been fairly awkward between the two since the argument on the rooftop, not to mention that apology of Enjolras’. Not that they were particularly – in fact at all - close before but now the two were even less so. Where previously they might have sparked up a debate over the slightest of issues, Grantaire now thought it best to remain silent in fear of pushing the leader further and further away. He hadn't even had the chance to express himself through song yet since the Musain had postponed their next live music night until the Christmas party ("We need to be studying and all that shit," to quote Musichetta).  
Eponine was still to be painted, but the art student had something special planned for her, and he had had to wait for tonight in order to get her painting right.   
The musical theatre course showcase was that night, the second year's putting on a selection of songs from Chicago, with Eponine in the leading role of Velma Kelly. Grantaire had just settled into his seat next to Jehan (front row obviously) in the university theatre, the two of them glancing around at the bright twinkling lights scattered around the room and the scarlet curtains as the audience filed in, camera and notebook at the ready, when Combeferre re-joined them having just left his nervous girlfriend in the wings.  
"How's she feeling, mate?" Grantaire asked, already knowing the answer as his phone buzzed with a text simply reading "Fuck"; the fifth in the past few minutes alone.  
"Affectionate I take it?" Jehan sniggered, gesturing to the bright red lipstick stains on Combeferre's face. He turned the colour of the stage curtains as he wiped a hand across his mouth.  
"She's um, she's worried but... excited I think?" his voice broke slightly in the middle of the sentence and Grantaire could tell that ‘Ferre was possibly just as scared as Eponine, if not more so! Jehan opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything the rest of the group appeared in the row, led by a cheery Courfeyrac cradling bundles of snacks.  
“Sorry we’re late!” Cosette was shuffling past the three already sitting, following Courfeyrac with Marius close behind.  
“Right on time actually,” Jehan said, smiling and nodding to Bossuet and Bahorel who were passing him.  
"You know Ep'll kill you if you crunch the whole way through the show, Courf!" Grantaire warned, calling over the heads of Jehan and Combeferre, and no one doubted him for a minute. He leant forward to greet everyone with a wave, and noticed – ever typical Grantaire - Enjolras was not among them. Luckily, Joly provided an explanation before the art student had to ask for one.  
"Enjolras'll be around later, he's finishing something for the protest tomorrow."   
Of course he was, Grantaire thought, although he knew for a fact from Marius that everything had been sorted for at least a week.  
"Something that Joly and I did a couple weeks ago, but apparently it was 'all wrong'," Bossuet added, clearly joking but with a hint of seriousness too. Grantaire chuckled, glad that he wasn't the only one irritated by the great leader's obsessive commitment.  
Nothing had been said between the pair about the apology Enjolras had given Grantaire; the former acting like it hadn’t happened, probably due to it being so out of character for him, and the latter not daring to bring it up in fear of getting his head bitten off. Grantaire was a lot of things but he wasn't stupid.   
Looking along the row, though, he also noticed that there were no extra seats – which would end up a problem if Enjolras actually decided to turn up through the performance. Grantaire didn’t have much more time to dwell on this though as the band had already started up – all booming brass and crashing drums – and began to swing into the overture.  
“Oooh I’m so excited!!” Musichetta exclaimed from a little way away, grabbing the knees of both of her boys. Grantaire switched on his camera and took a deep breath as his best friend sashayed onto the stage, bowler hat atop her head and legs that went on forever. Bahorel wolf-whistled and Combeferre couldn’t stop smiling.  
“Jesus, ‘Ferre, aren’t you lucky?” Courfeyrac elbowed him with a smirk. He wasn’t wrong – Eponine looked fantastic in her tiny black flapper dress, and her voice: Grantaire had tried for years to describe it but always found himself lost for what to say. Even Jehan and his way with words had trouble doing it justice: it was more than words could describe, and it made you feel – really feel – whatever she sang.   
The others, who hadn’t really heard Eponine sing all that much before, except for the odd song at karaoke nights, all sat slack jawed as Combeferre eyed them knowingly as if to say I told you so.   
By the end of All That Jazz, Grantaire was out of his seat and knelt in front of the stage as discreetly as possible snapping photos like a madman. As the performance went on, the excitable artist was still crouched like this, and he had just taken a wonderful photo of Eponine in a rather compromising position during Cell Block Tango when he felt a presence behind him. He knew before he even turned round who it was and, sure enough, as he glanced round, Enjolras was standing – well sort of kneeling so as not to obstruct anyone’s view - awkward as anything. It had obviously been raining as his usually bright blonde curls were darker and also plastered to his far too pretty face. Enjolras looked to the stage momentarily, smiling with – was that pride? – as he regarded Eponine, before meeting Grantaire’s gaze for the first time since bonfire night. He gestured quickly to the empty seat, and the art student nodded wordlessly; suddenly self-conscious about the blue eyes on his own.   
After Enjolras didn’t move for a few moments, still amazingly engrossed in the performance: Grantaire would never have guessed him to be one for musicals but perhaps, as he was now realising, there were a lot of things he didn’t know about the leader, the art student found himself quickly muttering, “You gonna sit down or…?”   
“Oh right, yeah.”   
And with that their interaction was over, Enjolras sat behind him – greeting the others briefly – Jehan continued to cry along to the show, Courf continued to eat, Feuilly continued to surprise everyone by knowing every word to every song (Chicago must be a big thing in Poland, they decided), Eponine continued to be fabulous and Grantaire continued taking pictures for his project. And that was that.   
Eponine's Velma received a standing ovation and all of her worries about possibly not passing her assessment went out the window. After the audience had left, she appeared at the stage door - breathless and ecstatic - and practically threw herself at her friends. Acting quickly, Combeferre swept her up in his arms and kissed her enthusiastically; once again staining his mouth with scarlet lipstick. The two were normally not big on PDAs ("We do not want to be Marius and Cosette!") but this was an obvious exception.   
When the loved-up literature enthusiast finally put her down, the others formed a circle and enveloped her into a massive group hug - even Enjolras was involved; squished awkwardly between Jehan (who had not yet stopped crying) and Courfeyrac (who had thankfully stopped eating).  
"I think I speak for all of us when I say you were absolutely brilliant!" Cosette announced.  
"Better than absolutely brilliant!" Marius corrected.   
The Amis were a chorus of compliments and praise, and Eponine still hadn't said a word - only flailed and screamed a little. After the calls of "wonderful”, “amazing”, “stupendous”, “utterly beautiful darling” – Jehan - “hawwt!” - Bossuet, swiftly nudged by Joly- had died down, the beaming performer looked to Grantaire.  
"What about you, babe? What did you think?" she wiggled her thick, painted on eyebrows suggestively at him.  
"Meh, you were alright I suppose..." he joked for a second, grinning as she frowned with a smirk, "I kid, I kid, my dear! I have no words for how wonderful you were!"   
He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her tightly as the rest of the group discussed their plans for the night.  
"I suggest we CELEBRATE!" Bahorel decided, clearly hoping for a trip to the Musain. Grantaire could tell already that not everyone would be up for this plan. As Feuilly nodded enthusiastically, Enjolras had already formulated an excuse.  
"Sorry guys I'll have to give this one a miss, protest business and all that - see you there tomorrow though?"   
Everyone sighed simultaneously and then laughed together while nodding dutifully. Enjolras made to leave but, before he did, put a hand on Eponine's shoulder.  
"You really were fantastic tonight, really," he said earnestly, giving her a rarely seen genuine smile - the kind that involved sparkling eyes and made you (well Grantaire at least) weak at the knees, before he headed off into the night; ethereal as ever. Eponine gave Grantaire an incredulous but pleased look, before he stared after the golden haired leader.  
"Come on, R, he's totally gone now, I don't think you can see him any more!" he heard Jehan whisper at him as he turned round to find that only the three of them remained in the auditorium.  
"What's that saying, Prouvaire?" Eponine teased, placing her bowler hat atop his flower-covered hair, "‘I hate to see you leave but I love to watch you go’..." And the two of them called together, "‘Cause of your ass!!"  
Grantaire sighed exasperatedly; realising that this would now become a running joke, before slinging an arm around each of their shoulders and following the trail of popcorn Courfeyrac had left leading to the Musain.

"You ready to go, 'Taire?" Eponine called from his bathroom - she'd only been brave enough to enter and use it today because her water had been shut off (she hadn't yet paid her bill but they weren't talking about that).   
What they were discussing however was last night’s performance and the final protest of term they would soon be attending if they ever got out the door; they were already ten minutes late and were waiting for Jehan to drop by any minute to collect them.  
"Eh, hang on a minute, just… I've got something to show you!" Grantaire replied, fairly nervously. He had just finished his last painting for the gallery display of Eponine in all her Chicago-ey glory - which had taken longer than planned with the subject hanging around watching him closely all the while. Now though, he had his best friend's seal of approval: "I actually- You’ve made me look quite good... Yes, I give you permission to show this to people!"  
Grantaire uncovered another of the paintings he'd been working on and recently finished though; this time of a certain blonde.   
While painting it, his mind had most definitely wandered, but he was surprisingly pleased with how it had ended up – not that, he thought, anything he painted could ever compare to the real life subject. Grantaire quickly reconsidered this though as Eponine emerged from the less than presentable bathroom and stood awestruck at what she saw.  
"What is it you-,” she gasped, “Oh my god, Grantaire!" Eponine exclaimed as she gawped at the intricate painting he held in front of her. She'd just called him Grantaire, possibly for the first time since they'd started school together – it had always been ‘R’.  
"Erm, is- is it ok?” this almost came out as a stammer.  
"I've never seen anything like this... it's amazing!!" she exclaimed, lightly tracing the lines of the painting with her fingers.   
"Really?" he smiled as he watched her eyes light up, but he still didn't let himself dwell on his own work; scared that it wouldn't do Enjolras justice.  
"Are you kidding me? Seriously, R, it’s incredible! God, its exactly like him. I mean, look at it!"   
So Grantaire did, for the first time he properly looked. He remembered the day he had taken the photo his painting was based on, the leader especially in detail; mighty Enjolras on his protest podium, fist in the air and determination in his eyes as he glared out across the crowd, shouting his words as the throng of people cheered back at him. There had been a breeze, Grantaire remembered; golden hair moving softly and making Enjolras look even more god-like, if that was possible. An idol of strength above the rabble.  
The painting captured this, yes, but it was the unusual way Grantaire had painted the bright daylight behind the leader that really made it stand out. The more minute details appeared rather fuzzy, but the sun shone brightly; illuminating the leader’s golden hair, and ensuring that every perfectly immaculate angle of his face was visible in complete clarity. A halo of golden light shining out behind his head - which seemed to be reverberating hot from the impassioned man - Apollo's own namesake making him look practically angelic.   
Grantaire's chest was swollen with pride as he took a shaky breath, trying to slow his racing heart; he always had difficulty accepting his own talent but he knew for sure that this painting was different to anything he'd ever done previously. This attempt proved impossible though as he had a sudden moment of realisation.  
"I can't show this to people, 'Ponine."   
His voice cut the silence; blunt and fairly upset.  
"What?! What are you talking about?! You have to!" she had sat herself down precariously on the edge of his unmade bed; Apollo in all his glory set carefully against the opposite wall.  
"I can't though - think about it - if I display my other stuff next to this, I mean… The other paintings are good and everything but… How obvious is it gonna be that I'm in love with him?" Grantaire dragged his saddened eyes reluctantly from those of his painted god.  
"I hadn't even thought of that," Eponine began to say, until she noticed something, "Wait... in love?"   
Grantaire suddenly realised that he had not yet admitted the "L" word's involvement in his Enjolras-related feelings, not out loud anyway, though it had been there for a considerably long time.  
"As if it wasn't obvious!" he muttered, looking down at his hands.  
"I suppose," Eponine didn't seem surprised, she was smiling at him, biting his lip. They both knew how he felt even if he'd only just said it.   
"It just seems such a waste not to let people see it!" she moaned. The art student sighed slightly, picking up the painting again, knowing she was right and that this piece held his best chance at a good mark - but it was just too risky; he'd have to quickly come up with another not as impressive one - meaning he'd probably be up all night for the next few days. Just as Grantaire was about to sit the Apollo painting back down with the Velma one though, Jehan came bursting into the cramped apartment, hair messy and face flustered.  
"Come on guys we're so late, we were supposed to be there early to attract-"   
He had grabbed their hands but dropped them when he saw the painting, "Oh.. is that Enjolras?!" he asked excitedly, eyes wide.  
"Um, yeah," the art student replied, suddenly embarrassed and scratching his unshaven cheek.  
"That's amaazing!!" the poet reached out to touch it instinctively, smiling all the while.  
"R's in looove!" Eponine teased merrily, and the art student rolled his eyes at her.  
"Well I knew that, it's been written all over his face for aaages!! Also I heard while I was coming upstairs, the walls in here are surprisingly thin... Just in case you need to know for, ahem, future reference!" Jehan exclaimed with a wink as he watched Grantaire cover the painting again, sneaking a last look.   
"Listening in to our conversation, little poet? Terrible!" Eponine exclaimed with a giggle, slinging her bag over one shoulder.  
"Jehan, this painting isn't-" Grantaire started to explain his plan to change the Apollo piece but the poet had already taken their hands and begun leading them out of the door; he wasn't listening.  
"Tell me on the way, we really have to go now!"   
And so they hurried their way downstairs and towards the train station, but by the time they got there the conversation had turned to other matters.

Time couldn’t go slow enough for Grantaire over the next couple of weeks, and before he could say “shit I’m gonna fail”, the evening of the gallery showing had arrived and he was sat waiting by his work. Twiddling his thumbs nervously, he stared at the clock: 7.55. The others would be here soon. Enjolras would be here soon, to see his work. Fuck.   
He hurried around his small corner of the cramped design-workshop-come-gallery; straightening things he’d straightened only moments before, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other wide-eyed students setting up close by. Grantaire started slightly, trying to pretend he didn’t just make a high-pitched squeaking sound, as someone grabbed him from behind.  
“Hey, R! Guess who!”   
The mystery woman (or man with extremely high voice) exclaimed, placing two dainty hands over his eyes. He would know that lark-like voice anywhere: Cosette. “Uuh, I have no idea – is that you Bahorel?”   
She chuckled pleasantly, before spinning him around and into a friendly hug in one fluid movement.  
“Hi, Cosette! How’re you feeling?” he asked, knowing that she too was presenting pieces at the event as part of her exam; in fact every art and fashion student was.  
“Not too bad at the minute, I think everything looks ok… Ep and Jehan were brilliant models!” She replied; speaking so fast Grantaire struggled to make everything out, “How about you?”  
The art student considered lying, just to make himself feel better, but, realising that it might be far from convincing, decided that telling the truth would be much easier.  
“Honestly… I’m fucking terrified!” he kept glancing around him, hoping to catch glimpses of other people’s work. It sounded vain – but what if his looked awful in comparison?! Art had always been the only thing he could imagine himself doing, but he had never had to present paintings in such a way before.  
“Oh, Grantaire I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about! I’m nervous too!” Cosette held onto his hand and squeezed comfortingly; smiling all the while, “Feel my heart!”  
Then another voice joined the two; “You seem to have quite a thing for other people’s girlfriends don’t you, R?” Marius intervened, just in time to find Grantaire’s hand in a compromising position on Cosette’s chest.  
“Haa, yeah – can’t get enough of girls, me,” he replied sarcastically as Cosette rushed to throw her arms around her boyfriend.  
"You're early aren't you, love?" she asked, kissing his cheek.  
"Yeah, well, support and all that..." Marius' face was bright red, as usual.  
"Oh, Pontmercy you charmer!" Grantaire exclaimed, putting the last of his paintings into position and wincing as he checked behind the cover to find that it was the less than impressive Enjolras decoy. He had - well Courfeyrac had - made the decision that all Grantaire’s pieces were to remain covered until the group’s arrival (or until anyone trying to score assessments made an appearance at least). The art student adjusted the name card on his presentation desk - wondering why it was even necessary - and turned back to find the couple looking at him expectantly; Cosette's eyes as wide as they could be.  
"No," Grantaire started, knowing what they were after, "not happening, no- Cosette don't even look at me like that!" he warned with a faint smile as the blonde girl pouted at him.  
"Come on, R, we'll not be here much tonight since 'Sette needs to stay with her clothes!" Grantaire made a retching noise and mimed being sick.  
"Right fine I'll show you if you promise never to call her 'Sette again!"   
At this, Marius laughed and Cosette clapped her hands gleefully; almost but not quite a happy dance.   
"I'm serious, man, pet names make me feel queasy!"   
As soon as the words left his mouth though he couldn't help but think of a pet name that he most certainly had no problem with. Apollo. But then that made Grantaire think of the disappointing painting and what Enjolras would then think of the art student once he saw it. Shaking the worries off for a while, he led Marius and Cosette to where their painting was covered by a thin sheet of some weird fabric he'd found in the back of the textiles cupboard.   
"Don't get your hopes up too much, it's nothing special!" Grantaire warned as he pulled away the fabric of the painting sat second in from the end of the row of covered pieces. People often told him that he tended to underestimate his own work; never realising how good it was, apparently, and this was no exception.   
The painting showed the affectionate couple in a tender embrace, stood leaning against the end of a booth seat in the Musain; their faces raw full of natural joy, Cosette makeup-less and Marius tired; but both supporting each other in equal measure, strong because they were together.   
“Oh, Grantaire, wow! It’s amazing!” Cosette was laughing, in a good way, as she grabbed onto Marius’ arm, "Let's put it in our house when we get married!" she suggested quietly but excitedly. For most couples, this might have been an innocent joke but for two as attached as Marius and Cosette, Grantaire knew this statement was deadly serious.  
“Yeah, you may have a buyer here, R, when you’re finished with it!” Marius nodded and grinned at the blonde girl.  
“Well, if you buy me drinks at in the Musain Christmas doo I’ll give you it for free, how’s that?” Grantaire winked at them. Cosette let her boyfriend’s arm go then, gasping as she clapped her hands – again.  
“Omigosh, I’m so excited for that! Now we’re all finished with assessments and everything,” a squeal sounded around Grantaire’s corner of the gallery.  
“Nearly,” the art student added, lifting a finger. The blonde girl repeated his word before continuing herself, “We'd probably best be off, R, fashion to attend to and I need to tell this one," Cosette nodded at Marius, who slid an arm round her waist, waiting patiently, "where to stand so he doesn't knock anything over!" she explained, her expression turning to one of sudden nervousness.  
"Well I guess I'll see you guys later then, your pieces are great Cosette by the way, again. Ep's costume was incredible the other night!" Grantaire smiled reassuringly, trying to keep his own fear at bay, as he again covered Marius and Cosette’s painting.  
"Catch you later, man, you've got some serious talent here!" Marius reached to shake his hand again before being led off into the growing crowds of students setting up and preparing themselves for the night ahead. The usually cheery blonde turned back to him when they were halfway across the gallery, mouthing "Good luck" in a way that made the art student a lot more nervous than it should have.   
The seconds and minutes ticked slowly past as he stared at the clock. Whose fucking idea was it to set up so close to the lovely reminder of how long he had to wait before Enjolras turned up to see his shit-ass painting of him?! While Grantaire’s mind remained on this subject, he felt a jab in his back. Naturally the next to arrive were Eponine and Jehan.   
"Don't look so scared babe, you look as if you've killed a man!" Eponine noted by way of greeting, pulling him in for a tight hug. Jehan went next, commenting, "God, your heart's not half racing!"   
Tonight his hair was somehow more intricately braided than it had ever been, and his horrifically bright green jumper was drawing far too much attention to itself.  
"Attacked by hairdressing students earlier, they almost peed with excitement when they saw these locks!" the poet exclaimed, tossing the end of his braid over his shoulder, trying to lighten the mood a bit. It worked to a certain extent as, after a few minutes with them, Grantaire found himself falling about laughing.  
"No 'Ferre tonight, Ep?" The now somewhat less terrified man noticed.  
"He's giving E a lift, they won't be long... and before you say anything it'll be fine!" she replied, stressing the end of her sentence a bit too much.  
"Why doesn't Enjolras drive?" Jehan wondered out loud, he'd picked up some stray flowers from a nearby display – which were probably needed - and was in the process of weaving them into Eponine's un-styled hair.  
"Between us, apparently he can - but ‘Ferre says he's awful!!"  
Grantaire vowed then and there that one day he would see this infamous driving first hand. In his dreams maybe.  
“Right, stop distracting us, R and show us the bloody paintings, I’m dying here!” Jehan moaned, cocking his head to the side.  
“I can’t show you until everyone gets here, that’s the rule we decided!” Grantaire replied, knocking Jehan’s inquisitive hand away as it made for the covered frames. As he said this, Eponine winked at him overtly obviously and before he could cover for her Jehan had argued:  
“Before you even say anything she already told she’s seen hers!”   
Grantaire narrowed his eyes as the girl backed instinctively away.  
“Look at his face; it’s so difficult to lie to that face!” As she said this she nudged the poet who instantly twisted his face so he looked like a toddler on the brink of a dangerous tantrum.  
“Oh for fucks sake fine!” he raised a restricting finger to Jehan, before he quite literally jumped for joy and Grantaire felt strangely paternal; despite the fact that Jehan was in fact a few months older than him. It must just have been his mind that remained five years old.  
“Loove youuu!” he crooned sweetly as Grantaire went to lift the cover from the painting – one of the largest he’d done – but suddenly realised something.  
“Wait a minute, Ep, maybe you haven’t seen yours…” he trailed off and smiled as she shot him a confused look. This turned into a grin when she saw the painting though.   
It showed the two of them in the Musain, Jehan’s hand on Eponine’s shoulder as if he was in the middle of telling her a story – the two gossiped no end like two insufferable high school girls – but his face was screwed up in what could only be described as the happiest expression Grantaire had ever witnessed. Eponine had her head thrown back in gleeful laughter and was clutching Jehan’s knee with one hand and the side of the table in the other. This tended to be how they spent their evenings when the three of them were together but, due to Grantaire’s dislike of self-portraits, the only part of him that had made it into the painting was his faithful wine bottle perched between the two laughing friends.   
As a school student, Grantaire had dabbled in photography for a while so had several old cameras lying around his apartment; the only problem being that his apartment - particularly under his bed - had become The Land that Time Forgot over the past year of student life. He had lost count of all the things that had gone missing in just the last few days let alone months, so he had breathed a sigh of relief when a dusty shoebox labelled "cmrs" (to be blamed on packing either drunk or sleep-deprived, maybe both) was recovered from the debris. God forbid any of his friends (i.e. Enjolras) ever turned up unannounced; his small living/kitchen area was acceptable for the odd fRaternite rehearsal but even Courfeyrac wouldn't let himself end up in that bedroom - no matter who he got to share it with. And the bathroom - Joly would explode! So far Eponine had been the only one brave enough to venture into its murky depths.   
This particular painting had been adapted from a photo taken on a rather garishly pink camera; one gifted oh so kindly by Jehan as an 18th present. Grantaire had painted it very roughly without much background detail and it seemed to fade out around the edges in a haze of blended colours.   
After a few moments, Grantaire hadn’t yet noted Jehan’s reaction but, surprise surprise, when he did look over it was just in time to see him wipe tears from his eyes.  
“Oh darling it’s beautiful!” His voice broke slightly and he could hardly speak for smiling. Grantaire wondered sometimes how Jehan was even real; he was so delicate and gentle like the flowers he wore and yet, when aggravated, could easily knock out a man twice his size (he’d seen this happen only once, and didn’t want to see it again). Most of the time, though, the poet was just a pure soul; occasionally too nice for his own good though.   
“Thank you!!”   
The poet reached over to hug him quickly but affectionately, and only slightly tear-stained his shirt. Eponine’s reaction was fairly different but not quite a polar opposite. It was a well-known fact that Eponine didn’t cry (unless she was drunk or something seriously upset her), but Grantaire swore he saw her eyes glistening in the split second before she blinked them and took his hand, locking their fingers together tightly.  
“It’s fantastic, really, really amazing ‘Taire!” She grinned widely, visibly proud, and once again Grantaire felt his nerves settle slightly. Eponine tended to have that effect on him.   
“Should we cover it back up or just leave it d’you reckon?” he asked them after clearing his throat.  
“The others will be here soon and the assessors probably won’t be long. Are we waiting with you, yeah?” Eponine questioned, also grateful for a subject change.  
“If you don’t I will physically tie you to the table!” he threatened them both and with that they were back to their usual banter. They did that often, come to think of it; find themselves having deep meaningful conversations one minute and play fighting like children the next.  
The three passed the remaining fifteen minute wait chatting idly; Jehan judging the outfits of strangers as they passed, Eponine reassuring Grantaire for the millionth time that Enjolras wasn’t going to hate him for the mediocre (“I’m sure it’s not mediocre, R!”) painting.  
“I thought he hated you anyway?” Jehan had said without thinking.  
“Not exactly helping you arse!” Eponine nudged him with her shoulder, shaking the table but not enough to disrupt any of the paintings. By the time they saw Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta making their way towards them, hands clasped together, they had uncovered both the Marius and Cosette painting and the one of Eponine as Velma too (“I’m in his folio twice because he loves me most, clearly”), leaving only three left covered.  
The two couple’s pictures seemed to blend in to each other when placed side by side, though Grantaire insisted they stay placed where he had put them. Before Eponine could ask whether or not he'd done this on purpose though, Musichetta had raised her hands to her face - fingers still linked with her boys' - and squeaked with excitement.   
"Eeee R, these are brilliant!!" She gestured to the pictures already on display, looking expectant. Grantaire opened his mouth to reply, but before he could Bossuet beat him to it.  
"And before you say you can't show us until the others are here - that rule's clearly out the window!" He sounded almost desperate, but Grantaire put this down to over exaggeration.  
"Seriously though, this one's been a nightmare all week, please just fucking show her," Joly said, completely deadpan and in no way sarcastically pointing to their girlfriend who simply shrugged.  
"Come on 'Taire, arguing with ‘Chetta is just as futile as Ep arguing with Cosette about shopping for Christmas dresses!" Jehan commented as he leant against a pillar near the table, receiving a swift elbow in the ribs from the diligent girl.  
"Alright fine, but if Courf decides to kill me I blame all of you!"   
The art student was even more nervous now; only two pictures left after this one. He lifted the fabric to reveal a hazy interpretation of the trio in their usual pile-of-limbs position in their favourite booth-seat in the Musain; ‘Chetta had her apron on but untied, while Joly's stethoscope (he really did take it places on occasion) hung across the back of the chair, and Boss appeared to be laughing uncontrollably at something just out of reach, his eyes cast to the side. The three of them looked incredibly cramped and slightly jumbled, and yet blissfully cheery – just as they always did.   
This picture had in fact been taken on Musichetta’s birthday: she’d been asked to go in to work last minute and, being the fabulous gentlemen they always were, her boys decided to surprise her (by basically running into the Musain and jumping on her, much to the dismay of her boss); which explained the cake and flowers in the centre of the painting. Grantaire didn’t need to wait for a reaction as, no sooner had the cover been dropped, Musichetta had punched Bossuet on the shoulder to express her excitement and Bossuet himself was clapping the artist on the arm, laughing as ever but with him as opposed to at him.  
“Holy shit, R, you can fucking paint dude!” When the scruffy man was surprised or impressed or happy or sad or conscious (and sometimes when he was unconscious too) he swore. He could barely tear his eyes from the frame to tell him this though, and Musichetta had not yet stopped squealing. Joly, however – the most calm and reserved of the three – spoke more politely on their behalf.  
“Congratulations, Grantaire, they’d be crazy not to pass you with work like this!” He smiled and, for once, didn’t look terrified that he might catch a life-threatening disease at any moment.  
“You’d know, eh? Doctor to be and all that?” Eponine raised her eyebrows, and regretted saying anything at all when she saw the terror spread across the medical student’s face.  
“Don’t set him off, Ep! It took us two hours to get him to calm down after he got a B in an assessment the other day!” Musichetta hissed, glaring at Jehan as he struggled to hold in a laugh. Grantaire was about to make some sort of medical joke when Bahorel and Feuilly came rushing into the gallery; seemingly chasing each other.   
“Who was it that made the decision to give Bahorel the exchange student again? They’ll never let him back into Poland now!” Jehan rolled his eyes as seemingly the entire gallery tutted at the pair running through the building like children. They arrived breathless and laughing, Bahorel declaring himself the winner as Feuilly noticed the paintings.  
“Zeez are… zdumiewający!” He tended to speak Polish sometimes.  
“Bless you,” Bossuet said, chuckling at his own joke. This time Bahorel did not join him as he too had only just laid eyes on Grantaire’s work.  
“Yeah what he said!”   
Their painting depicted Bahorel’s usual place at the bar, drink in his hand and faithful Feuilly by his side; and he was probably passing on some vital life lesson to his little protégé. Feuilly’s eyes were fairly glazed as he slumped on the barstool – he never could keep up the pace. It had the same blurred effect as the ones before it, and the group stood slack-jawed as they realised Grantaire’s intention: they all would eventually join to make one big picture; a panorama of their little family. Set out in the correct way, it could be deciphered that Bossuet was in fact looking across the room and laughing with Bahorel over Feuilly’s inebriated state past Marius and Cosette standing next to them. The panel on the opposite end, perhaps the most important too, remained covered.  
“Show us the rest, just a tiny peek!” Jehan pleaded, he’d never had much patience, though even Marius was popping his head into their circle while collecting a drink for Cosette.   
“Yeeah, R!!” he left while calling, “I don’t even know what you guys want but still yeeah!”   
Before the tiff could get any further, Grantaire heard Eponine’s phone buzz and gulped as she turned to him. He didn’t need to ask who it was when her face lit up as she read the text; obviously Combeferre.  
“They’re here.”  
Up until this point, the artist had done his best to push all nerves to the back of his mind but now that wasn’t an option. And Grantaire momentarily forgot how to breathe.  
“Don’t look so terrified, I doubt Courf will be too angry that you’ve shown us already!” Bahorel tried to reassure him, not understanding the real fear. Eponine met Grantaire’s worried gaze though, willing him not to say anything that might give away his affections – not that he would of course but it was best to be sure.  
“They’re parking the car, I think Courf’s with them too,” she stated, looking at her phone again.  
“Seriously? Before it took two of them to park and now they need three?” Bossuet remarked, leaning against a pillar in the old fashioned gallery.  
“Remind me never to let them drive me anywhere,” Joly seemed to tremble as he pulled up one of the few seats set aside for them by Grantaire. He had been on the look-out for any critics but all his attention turned to a different subject as the final three members of their group entered through the rickety doors. Combeferre grinned immediately as he spotted Eponine, who returned this gesture and wound an arm tightly around his waist on arrival. He kissed her forehead gently and Courfeyrac made the classic Indiana Jones whip noise – which had now been assigned to all couples as opposed to exclusively Marius and Cosette – as he appeared behind them, a frustrated-looking Enjolras in tow. Although, thinking about it, there was rarely a time when the proclaimed leader didn’t look at least slightly frustrated. God he was fucking confusing.   
Grantaire occasionally wondered whether or not it (he) was worth all this worrying and effort – especially since there was absolutely no guarantee whatsoever (if at all to be honest) that anything would ever come of his feelings – but his wonderful brain always decided to avoid that piece of basic logic in favour of hope; something he rarely experienced. He’d wanted to ask why Cosette hadn’t chosen Enjolras as one of her models because, standing there in just a pair of jeans and a red plaid button down shirt, he still managed to look practically angelic and – if Grantaire was in any way religious – he’d have believed that he belonged nowhere but heaven. Trying his best not to stare too much (a task that proved difficult at the best of times), Grantaire greeted them all.  
“I’m glad you’re all here guys, finally, it means a lot to me so thanks…” he noticed Courfeyrac’s disapproving expression and added, “and I’m sorry I didn’t wait until we were all together but you were too damn slow!”   
It felt odd to have an audience of this sort, and he realised that this is what protests must feel like but on a larger scale. It was not a feeling he would like to get used to.  
“Hmm maybe I’ll let you off with this one. We were pretty late since somebody couldn’t wait until tomorrow finish yet another essay!” They all knew who Combeferre meant, but he looked straight at Enjolras – who didn’t seem at all phased – anyway.  
“Well don’t make us wait any longer then!” Eponine enthused, willing Grantaire to remove the cover. They’d had the discussion the night before and decided that leaving the Enjolras painting – or “Train God” as she’d named it – out of the exhibition was the best option, and so he had proceeded to hide it under his bed for no one to ever see again. Now though, the decoy was being uncovered; Grantaire pulled back the final curtain to reveal a dimly lit and similarly out of focus painting showing Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras sitting at the table with their heads together.  
“Hey, that’s not the painting you- oof!” Jehan started, but found himself cut off by a harsh elbow in the stomach from Eponine.   
This last picture acted as the final piece of the panoramic puzzle, joining up all the loose ends. Combeferre clutched what looked like protest plans but had his eyes fixed on Eponine as she laughed with Jehan in the next painting, while Courfeyrac was slamming a fist onto the table with a determined look. Again the edges were blurred but, this time, Enjolras’ face seemed blurred too. When Grantaire had taken the photo and been painting it, he wanted it to be as natural as possible so, as Enjolras tended to shy away from photos, he had captured him side-on with very little of his face showing. This had proved difficult, as Grantaire so desperately wanted to paint him properly, and had resulted in him looking stern and emotionless while usually the passion reverberated from him.  
“This is the best, R, seriously great! No offence guys,” Combeferre grinned widely at him, and Grantaire couldn’t help but grin back. He had never expected that simply displaying his artwork would give him such a rush.  
“We should hang them in the Musain, we basically live there anyway!” Musichetta suggested as Courfeyrac pulled Grantaire into a much appreciated bear hug that almost but not quite knocked the wind out of him.  
“You’re a star, R!” His voice was too loud for the environment and echoed around the high ceilings, “And we know that rhymed little poet there’s no need to tell us!” He pointed at Jehan and chuckled lightly. Enjolras didn’t say anything, but continued to look at the paintings with an unreadable emotion plastered across his face.   
“Well I suppose we ought to go and see Cosette…” Eponine suggested as she nodded towards a woman with a clipboard walking around the gallery, not particularly close to them but still close enough. Everyone agreed unanimously and set off to find their blonde bombshell of a fashion designer, all wishing him luck as they went and promising to find him again for celebratory drinks (any excuse) later. It was only when everyone had disappeared amidst the exhibitions that Grantaire noticed some certain golden curls in his line of sight. Enjolras, of all people, had stayed behind. Once again the simple act of breathing escaped the artist, but he just managed to choke out, “I proved you wrong…”   
Enjolras didn’t meet his eyes and was, for some reason, still looking at the painting.  
“I suppose you did, yeah,” the ever confusing Apollo admitted reluctantly and half-heartedly, and Grantaire found himself infuriated by the disappointment on the law student’s face.  
“Something wrong?”   
The icy blue eyes suddenly snapped over to his own.  
“No ..” the golden haired wonder seemed about to say something, but changed his mind, “no nothing, I shouldn’t have doubted you.” He attempted a smile but it didn’t melt the ice in his stare, and held his hand out to Grantaire slightly abruptly. The student took it regardless, and accepted the firm handshake that went with it. Enjolras’ hand was cool and surprisingly soft yet, as soon as he touched it, Grantaire felt like he had been burned. He could feel the sensation tingling through his veins and made himself promise never to tell Jehan, or else he’d have an entire poetry series written by the next fucking day.   
Suddenly Grantaire realised that their hands were still joined, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember how long they had been stood like that but only hoped that no one had noticed. Enjolras looked up at him, again as if he were about to speak, but instead turned to leave.  
“Uh, I guess I’ll, um, see you later then,” Grantaire called, rubbing his arms to get rid of the goose-bumps that had appeared and breathing deeply to slow his heart rate.   
The bouncing curls didn’t turn back. Shit. Should’ve taken his pulse, Grantaire thought as he smoothed down his shirt and returned to the front of his display table; smiling politely at the woman holding a clipboard who seemed to have appeared at his work out of thin air.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't read the pictures then here's the link for what the texts say...  
> http://hazelamcdowall.tumblr.com/private/59708711496/tumblr_msb9c7GRz51qcol24

"Right people, this is a very serious matter, let's stay focussed on the task at hand!"

Courfeyrac was up on a chair, bowler hat - Eponine's- in hand, trying to grab the attention of those still giggling away like little schoolgirls; mainly Bossuet and Bahorel. The group had gathered, by Courf's request, at the Musain; though for what they didn't know... yet. Though Cosette looked pretty knowledgeable sat next to him…

"Yes, R falling on his arse was hilarious," he tried not to laugh as Grantaire shot him a sarcastic 'very funny' look, "but it's only two weeks till Christmas so-"

"Oi! Courf, get the fuck down," Musichetta had re-emerged from the staircase, carrying a tray of freshly washed mugs from the kitchen, "if the boss sees you he'll throw you out! And not you, darling." She looked over the counter at Bossuet, a few of the guys laughing.

Thankfully the cafe was deserted today apart from the l'amis, but even so the curly-haired grinner jumped down and sat on his chair instead.

"As I was saying," Courfeyrac continued, Musichetta coming over to lean against a sofa - which Combeferre, Enjolras and Joly were occupying - Cosette now grinning also as she caught his eye, "our lovely Cosette here," he gestured to the blonde girl, "had the idea that- Cosette, you wanna tell them?"

She nodded quickly, still grinning.

"Oh ok yeah," her excitement was evident, "I thought we could do a secret Santa!"

A pause as the others - the guys anyway - took in her idea, Eponine and 'Chetta agreeing straight away.

"That'll make it so much easier than buying for everyone," Jehan commented, "not that I hadn't started to think what I was getting you all.."

He grinned, Eponine leaning her arm on his shoulder, "Riiiiiiight, that's why you wanted my hat, Courf! For the names."

He nodded back, again smiling broadly. "Speaking of which," he shoved the hat out into the middle of the table they were surrounding, "get picking!"

There was an instant scramble for name-picking and a terribly confused looking Feuilly just going along with it.

"Don't tell anyone who you got!" Courfeyrac said above the noise.

"Yeah we kinda get the idea behind secret Santa, Courf," Marius chuckled.

Once only one slip of paper remained - after people had chosen or got themselves and changed it - for Courfeyrac, the group sat back in their chairs again, some looking lost as to what to get their person and others looking amused and knowing exactly what to buy. Bossuet was trying to sneak a peak at who Bahorel and Joly had gotten, not that he had any luck in finding out.

"Oh I know exactly what I'm getting this guy!" Bahorel laughed.

"Man, you're not supposed to say who you got!" Eponine laughed, a few others rolling their eyes at him.

"Wha- Well, I didn't exactly..." he chuckled back, "oh well, sorry girls, I ain't got you to get for!"

"Bit obvious, mate," Bossuet laughed.

"Ok so everyone's got someone? Don't forget who you've got and remember the price limit is a tenner," Courfeyrac reminded them all, frisbee-ing Eponine's hat back to her. Most of them had stood up to go now, Enjolras being the first, but Eponine and Grantaire waiting behind on their sofa.

"Who'd you get, come on you've got to tell me!" Eponine begged once nearly everyone had bid them farewell for the night, Musichetta and Joly remained clearing up but that was all.

"Alright then, I got Pontmercy!" He knew exactly what to buy for Marius so, naturally, Grantaire had been delighted with his choice.

"Oh my god this is gonna be brilliant, make him suffer!" she laughed menacingly, imagining some of the things Grantaire might have planned already. As her laugh died down though she looked slightly distressed, "You'll never guess who I got..."

"Who is it? Ep, tell me that's not fair!" Grantaire exclaimed as she mimed zipping her lips together, before he reached for the scrunched up paper still in her hand and resorted to tickling her when she refused to let it go.

"Alright, alright, I give in!" she cried as the collapsed in a heap off the sofa, before leaning in to whisper, "I've only gone and picked fucking Enjolras - of all people!" She looked delighted and terrified at the same time, "I mean what the hell d’you buy a guy like that?!"

Grantaire quite honestly had no idea. When he'd realised Courf and Cosette's secret Santa plan, he had imagined what it might be like to choose the law student's name from the hat - even sighed a little when he had failed to. Now, however, he realised how horrifically stressful it might be to choose an appropriate gift for someone everyone (besides ‘Ferre) knew so little about.

"‘Chetta looks like she's about to close up, we should get going, babe," Eponine announced, after half an hour of present planning for Apollo, rising from her seat and reaching for Grantaire’s arm. They said goodbye on the street corner, Eponine calling, "I'll text you, as always!", as she headed off in the opposite direction to the art student. On the way home, Grantaire had time to think: he hadn't picked Enjolras - but what if Enjolras had picked him?! He couldn't imagine the result if that were the case.

 

 

A few days later, while he was scouring eBay for the most embarrassing present he could possibly buy Marius and idly strumming his guitar to get the chords for the next song fRaternite had decided to attempt, Grantaire's phone buzzed loudly on his desk - if you could even call it that when it's surface was barely visible underneath the debris.

It annoyed him slightly that she still used this nickname, especially as - much to his dismay - he hadn't seen him on the train at all in the past months despite searching expectantly every chance he got.

The sleepy student considered ignoring it but quickly decided against this as his phone buzzed for the second time.

With a sigh, he couldn't help but smile as he set his guitar aside and tapped a reply:

Grantaire continued scrolling through the website he’d been on for the past hour, giggling at some of the things he passed but waiting for the perfect ultimate embarrassment present he knew Marius would never forgive him for. Not that he knew what that was yet.

Was the next reply, and Grantaire - realising that this could end up being a long conversation - he picked up his laptop and sprawled across his unmade bed phone in hand.

He hit himself in the head with his phone.

Grantaire didn't quite understand his own fixation with naming Enjolras after a Greek god; well, he supposed anyone only had to look at the leader to see why but… he only hoped he never did it in public or to his face by accident. The art student also hoped that Jehan would stop using it in his fucking poetry.

Eponine didn't reply for a few minutes, and so he continued his gift search. So far he'd considered an Indiana Jones style whip, a book on how to be a house-husband, and a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs - but nothing had stood out to him. He'd reached the dregs of a search entitled "Comedy Christmas Gifts" when something red caught his eye at the side of the screen, in the “We Recommend” section of the website. It was perfect, but not for Marius.

Grantaire was in the process of copying the link to aid his desperate best friend when she texted him once more.

How could he ever dislike her when she made such fabulous Star Wars references?

He did so and pressed send with a smug grin, imagining the look on Enjolras' face when he received the present; a look he, Grantaire, will have put there.

Came the reply, followed by an additional: _  
_

 

 

"Ok, everyone got theirs?" Eponine asked the group, plastic bag with only her own present left in it in her hand, and they all nodded excitedly as they sat in tight circle in the fairly small apartment. Her roommates had already left and she had been so excited to have everyone over for pre-Christmas dinner before some of them headed home for the holidays, it gave her a sort of maternal feeling; at least that’s what she’d told Grantaire a few hours previously. It couldn't be denied that she was something of a genius in the kitchen, and pairing this with Grantaire’s skill for decorating a place – this time Ep’s flat and not the Musain roof - the night looked to be a great one.

Despite the day itself being a couple of weeks away yet, the l'amis were full of Christmas spirit (among other spirits of a different kind) and a few of them had even thought to dress up for the occasion. Grantaire laughed as Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Bossuet grinned like children with sweets in their fluffy patterned jumpers - santa, rudolph and a rather shifty looking snowman - and Combeferre and Marius were amusing themselves by trying to sneak a gold sparkly pair of reindeer antlers onto Enjolras’ head. Feuilly had been wearing a monstrosity of an embroidered turtle neck smock type thing - an early present sent from his grandparents apparently, and they wanted photographic evidence of it in action - but it had soon been discarded in favour of a more comfortable and much less hairy cardigan. Adjusting his own Santa hat but being careful to avoid the button on the side that would cause it to start blaring a squeaky rendition of jingle bells, Grantaire urged the hostess to have a seat.

"Sit down so we can do this together at least, Ep!" he insisted, gesturing to the parcels in front of each of them. She ran to check the oven one last time before collapsing into the only armchair and onto Combeferre's lap with a sigh.

"Right, NOW PRESENTS!!" Courfeyrac looked like he was about to explode.

"Seriously I feel bad for your parents if this is what you were like every year!"  Jehan chuckled; his usual flowers had been replaced by tinsel and something that looked like mistletoe.

"You should have seen me when they told me Santa wasn't real!" he exclaimed, hands still firmly on his untidily wrapped gift - Grantaire could already hazard a guess who some of the presents were from.

"Santa's not real?!" Bossuet cried out suddenly, sticking out his bottom lip and crossing his arms.

"Aw thanks, Courf, we were trying to break it to him slowly!!" Musichetta huffed as Joly put an arm round the disgruntled boy to keep up the pretence, and they all broke down laughing - even Enjolras had tears in his eyes by the end of it.

"Ok, ok, enough hilarity, presents before the food burns!" Eponine announced, shaking her own to guess what it might be.

"Right, who's going first then?" Bahorel asked, relaxing into a slouched position.

"I think I should because let's face it, I think we all know who this is from!" Jehan could hardly speak for laughing at the badly wrapped shape in his hands - wrapped in tinfoil no less. When he did open it to find a slanted multi-coloured mug with the slogan "I'm so gay I can't even drink straight" emblazoned across it, the laughter only increased.

"Why thank you, Courf, suits me to a T!" the giggling poet called across the circle, and the centre faked surprise.

"But how did you know it was from me?!" he wondered, and as an answer Jehan balled up the tinfoil and threw it at him.

"Always so classy, Courf!" Musichetta commented with a feigned eye roll.

"Why don't you all just open them, and then we can guess?" Jehan suggested, he always adored watching people receive gifts - especially surprise ones - something about the way their eyes lit up. No one seemed to want to wait any longer to find out what their secret Santa had given them - or who their secret Santa was either – so they followed Jehan’s advice.

As bits of wrapping paper and bows began to fly in the air - and a heavy scent of flowers began to waft from both Cosette's and Musichetta's presents - almost everyone was in stitches as they looked at their gifts and decided that their group of friends were in fact the best people in the whole freakin’ world. Cosette started off the guessing with a blatant statement with which everyone agreed:

"Mine's from Jehan!!" she displayed a bright pink sparkly flower hair clip and a mini bottle of pink perfume. Running over to hug him quickly, she very nearly tripped over the pile of small but sufficiently embarrassing gifts her boyfriend had received.

"I don't know who got me these but I swear to fuck I'm going to kill them!" he looked furious as he held up packet after packet of condoms inside an Indiana Jones hat and his face went bright red. Grantaire's snorts gave him away almost instantly, and Bossuet turned to clap him on the shoulder.

"Brilliant, R, exactly what I would've done!"

"I'll never forgive you for this, you dick!" Marius narrowed his eyes in his direction but the art student just couldn't take him seriously, especially when Bahorel reached over and placed the hat on his head, a waterfall of condoms tumbling out of it. Grantaire himself had received a rather lovely set of paintbrushes and a sketchbook from someone with very good gift wrapping skills - he guessed Musichetta first of all, but got it right second time as his second guess was Combeferre. He sometimes forgot how well his best friend's spectacled boyfriend knew him now. Musichetta had bath salts and various sweet-smelling lotions all tied up with several bows from Cosette: "Since you're always working and never get any girly time!" she had said, and although Joly had sniggered, ‘Chetta had smiled politely; she was the least girly girl Grantaire had ever met, but it was the thought that counted and she wasn't about to make Cosette cry this close to Christmas. Bahorel looked like he could have cried with happiness when he found that Musichetta had not only convinced her boss to clear his Musain tab but had also stolen a pint glass for him. He was too far away to thank her properly, so got Bossuet and Joly to kiss her cheeks for him.

"If anyone finds out, I'm dead - and so are you!" she warned.

Joly already had his nose in the thoughtful book he’d got as a present - entitled “The Complete Manual of Things That Might Kill You: A Guide to Self-Diagnosis for Hypochondriacs” – and was planning a safety check throughout Eponine’s entire apartment.

“Seriously, I’m gonna cry man why’d you give him that, you’re not the one who has to live with it?!” Bossuet groaned at Bahorel as Joly took his pulse for the fifth time (just making sure he wasn’t having a heart attack, apparently). Combeferre’s gift was in the form of a personalised copy of his favourite book – no one wanted to ask the name because they knew it’d either be unpronounceable or would give him the excuse to explain the entire plotline and character developments – and everyone apart from Grantaire had already unanimously decided that it was from Eponine. Even Combeferre himself was shocked when he found out the book was, in fact, from Marius.

“God, Pontmercy, you’re such a softie!” Grantaire crooned as Cosette pinched his blushing cheek. Eponine received the DVD and soundtrack of Chicago from Feuilly – she’d determined that it must’ve been from the fanatic because Joly didn’t like it that much, she knew who Bossuet had bought for, and it’s not as if Enjolras would be seen buying a musical! Feuilly's was a mystery to begin with, because no one could think why anyone would buy the Polish exchange student a massive French flag and a beret… until someone noticed the smugness of a particular law student and it clicked.

“Oh you would, Enjolras, we might have known!” Combeferre said with an exasperated sigh.

“Well, France is far superior to Poland and I’m sure we would all, erm, miss you if you left…” he explained to the rather confused looking boy who proceeded to drape the massive flag around his shoulders.

“Vive la France – zat’s vat zey say yeah?”

“Yeah mate, zat’s vat we say!”

Normally Feuilly would protest against people making a mockery of his slowly fading accent but, as it the holidays were so close, he decided to let Bahorel’s comment slide.

The glittery Tinkerbell doll Courfeyrac was given by a guffawing Bossuet was perhaps the most comedic, and Bossuet himself was certainly the most pleased with his decision.

“Just so no one ever forgets the beauty of last year’s Halloween costume!” he explained as he stuck a mini picture of Courf’s face over Tinkerbell’s.

It took Enjolras the longest to both figure out who his secret Santa was – hardly anyone could remember who had got who what by the time it got to him - and why on earth they had bought him this particular gift. The gift in question was a bright red t-shirt inscribed with the phrase “liberté, égalité, beyonce” in bold black font, and Grantaire was so very pleased with himself for finding it. He did his best to hide this though as the bemused leader puzzled it out for himself.

“Aah I get it. Liberté, égalité, fraternité, of course… but I don’t even like Beyonce,” he said but, noticing the shocked and fairly angry expression on most of their faces, quickly added, “that much, I mean, I don’t like her that much.”

Eventually, Eponine had to give in and own up before he tore his pretty blonde curls out stressing about not knowing.

“Alright, alright, it was me!” she admitted, “but it was R who told me to! He found it!” The words had left her mouth before she had time to think, and everyone turned to look at Grantaire in surprise. He could feel himself blushing under his scruffle. Enjolras had that unreadable look in his eyes again, the one that he so often had where the art student was concerned, the one that suggested he didn’t quite know what to make of him still. Not wanting to linger on it any longer than necessary though, Eponine quickly and apologetically changed the subject.

“Well, I didn’t get you it for you to sit and gawp – put it on!” And so, incredibly, he did. And he looked perfect, as always; red was most certainly his colour.

All of a sudden, the smoke alarm sounded loudly from the kitchen, and the flustered hostess practically flew from the room in order to save their dinner. It wasn’t until later that they realised Bossuet had not shown them his present but, when they worked out who the only person left he could have got it from, it was discovered that Joly had bought his gift.

“You really don’t want to know, guys, you’d never see us in the same light again!” he’d assured them as the trio – Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta - were heading out of the door after the meal… significantly earlier than the rest of the l’amis. No one asked, nor would they ask. Ever. Grantaire shuddered at the thought as he helped Eponine and Combeferre clear the cramped table, and somehow those unreadable icy blue eyes stuck in his mind even more than usual.

 

 

The next few weeks went by in a flash of overeating, hangovers, cheesy music and more overeating – as Christmas always does. Grantaire spent the majority of his holidays having traditional movie marathons in oversized jumpers with Eponine and occasionally Combeferre and Jehan when they were around.

Eponine had been properly introduced to Combeferre’s parents and, of course, they had accepted her with open arms as part of the family. Feuilly had returned to Poland for a few weeks, taking Bahorel with him for one of those weeks after he’d mentioned that he’d have to spend Christmas alone; Bossuet, Musichetta and Joly had had a quiet holiday just the three of them; and the latest news was that Cosette and Marius had actually combined their families to celebrate the day; “They couldn’t get any more married if they were married!” Eponine had remarked.

The rest of their friends had gone home to spend a little time with their families before being thrown back into the deep end of what would be the last few months of university for a good few of them. They had all promised to meet up again to bring in the new year together at the annual party held in the Musain, and fRaternite had even thrown in an unpaid performance; rare for such poor students. Enjolras, however, seemed to be spending an unusual amount of time at the uni, especially in the library. Grantaire didn’t get to ask about this until the afternoon of December 31st as he sat nursing a strong coffee in the ABC alongside EpoFerre (a name created by Bahorel to describe the single entity the couple had become, in an affectionate way Grantaire was sure), Jehan and Courfeyrac.

“He’s been going in to uni basically every day these past few weeks, I mean who even does that?! It’s Christmas!” Grantaire asked them, hoping they wouldn’t ask why he knew so much about Enjolras’ daily routine: there was an almost clear view of the campus through Eponine’s bathroom window, and red jackets were particularly hard to miss. Combeferre opened his mouth to reply, but changed his mind at the last minute – his eyes seemed to suggest that he knew something they didn’t.

“Oh, wait, is this the thing you said about the other night? Come on, ‘Ferre, spit it out!” Eponine nudged him curiously, grimacing as she took a sip of coffee – Musichetta was still on holiday, and her replacement was far from ideal.

“Just between us, E had a really – and I’m not using that term lightly – really important interview a few days ago,” Combeferre admitted, abandoning his own coffee. Courfeyrac leant in as if he were listening to a ghost story.

“Ooh, tell us more!” he leant an elbow on the table heavily, only to have it slip off the edge and put his chin into contact with the hard wood. Grantaire burst out laughing, but didn’t let Combeferre forget the conversation.

“Yes, tell us more before he injures himself again!” he bargained.

“It’s for this internship, one that’ll determine his job prospects once he graduates, give him a foot in the door of a firm and all that,” the concerned man continued, biting his lip.

“Soooo when does he hear?” Grantaire pressed him for as many answers as he could get without seeming too eager.

“That’s the thing,” a sigh, “he should’ve heard by now, only I haven’t heard from E. Not a word since last week!” he checked his phone instinctively, but placed it on the table after finding his inbox empty.

“He even phoned his mum last night, she hadn’t heard anything either!” Eponine interjected, looking worriedly at Combeferre.

“So either he’s in a deep dark pit of despair because he didn’t get it… or he’s going absolutely apeshit crazy somewhere in celebration and the local mental institution’s gonna phone you any second to come get him?” Courf suggested, always trying to make light of the situation.

“Come on, that’s not helping,” Jehan held in his laughter. This made Combeferre smile slightly, but he didn’t fully relax – it was as if he had something else causing him stress as well as Enjolras. He glanced at Eponine. No, they were still blissfully happy. They confirmed this when Eponine put an arm around his waist and pulled him into a reassuring hug, and his expression evened out almost instantly. As Courfeyrac announced he was going to get another drink -

“Water this time because I think she’s poisoning the coffees!” - and Jehan accompanied him, Grantaire pulled out his own phone and scrolled through the contacts. He’d never thought to ask for Enjolras’ number – it wasn’t as if they spoke on a regular basis, only argued on a semi-regular one – but something in him wanted to at least try to help. He shook his head when he realised how stupid that would be; why one earth would the leader want to be helped by him? He didn’t see Enjolras as someone who asked for help from anyone – let alone someone he only tolerated – even when he did need it.

“What is it, R?” Eponine asked, obviously noticing his inner conflict, but before he could answer Bahorel was staggering up the stairs with a massive amplifier in his jumper-clad arms.

“Hey you guuys!” he called like Sloth from The Goonies (an unsurprising l’amis favourite), setting the amp down with a thud as soon as he reached the top floor. Grantaire welcomed the distraction and rose to greet him, shaking his hand – still freezing cold from outside – tightly.

“Look who’s back from the adoptive parents’!” Courfeyrac cried, hugging the tall man from behind and taking him by surprise. He spat hairs out as his face met the horrifically hairy sweatshirt Bahorel was sporting.

“Now that is a crime against fashion, why must you do this to me?!” Jehan winced as he backed away from the itchy monstrosity that scarily resembled Feuilly’s tunic-like affair from the night at Eponine’s.

“A gift from the mysterious grandparents, I’m basically Polish now,” he informed them, dragging the amp across the floor and taking a seat at their table.

“Don’t tell Enjolras!” Eponine warned, putting an arm round him in greeting.

“Good to see you, man, what brings you here so early? And with that?” Grantaire gestured to the dodgy-looking amp at his feet; it creaked as if it might blow up at any second when he nudged it with his foot. Jehan shuffled his chair away slightly.

“Ah yeah, we need that for tonight – but it’s fucked!” The bassist admitted, putting his thumbs up sarcastically, “I’ve taken it to Montparnasse who had a bitch of a hangover, but he couldn’t do anything with it either.”

“Probably because he had a bitch of a hangover… what we gonna do then?” Grantaire asked, looking round at everyone in case they had any suggestions. Courfeyrac was first:

“Be really, really fuck off loud!”

“Remain reasonably quiet, but make everyone shut the hell up for a change?” Eponine proposed before her phone buzzed on the table. The art student thought for a moment that it might be Enjolras, but accepted his mistake when she sighed audibly and placed the phone back in its place. Though there was the hint of a smile there.

“Who?” Grantaire asked teasingly.

“Cosette – with the third ‘what are you wearing’ text of the day. I love the girl to bits but she drives me crazy!” Combeferre laughed and kissed her forehead softly.

“She’d be better off texting me, to be honest!” Jehan joked, catching Eponine’s eye as she gave him a smug smile and he winked back, but it wasn’t really a joke because he did have a point. Also, Eponine and Cosette had been dress shopping (well, Ep had been dragged kicking and screaming) weeks ago so she already knew the answer to her question. The phone sounded again – somehow louder this time - and she looked as if she might throw it at the nearest wall.

“I swear to god, Jehan be a doll and read that for me?” he did so, and raised his eyebrows momentarily.

“It’s Mu- It’s Cosette again,” Grantaire frowned as the poet changed his mind as to who the text was from, meeting Combeferre’s confused glance. Jehan continued though “She… wants you to go round… and help her pick shoes… will I tell her no?”

“Nah best not, she’ll never forgive me!” Eponine turned to Combeferre with puppy dog eyes and intertwined their fingers, “I’ve got to go, babe, but I’ll see you tonight” she kissed his nose.

“What? Is shoe-picking strictly for girls now, yeah? I think I could cope with Cosette if-”

“No, no! You stay here and help these two set up their stage or barricade or whatever it is they call it,” Eponine smiled at him. “And even if shoe-picking is strictly for girls, it’d still be alright even though Jehan’s coming with me, aren’t you dear?” She wiggled her eyebrows at the poet, who nodded back with a grin.

“What are you guys up to?” Grantaire narrowed his eyes, pouting.

“What? No, nothing, nothing at all, babe,” the girl jumped up from Combeferre’s side.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I could swear that you-”

“Nope! Nothing! Can’t tell- Nope!” Eponine was shaking her head and doing a really bad job of covering up whatever it was she was keeping secret. Combeferre gave in instantly though, knowing full well that it was near impossible to win an argument with his girlfriend (unless it was about authors, and even then she gave him a run for his money).

“If Cosette’s unbearable I’ll distract her with something shiny while you sneak out!” he promised as he winked at Eponine, but everyone knew he wanted to help pick Cosette’s shoes too.

“See you later, little poet!” Courfeyrac called as Jehan made for the stairs. Eponine hung back for a moment though and put a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. He turned round to face her and blushed when she gave him a knowing look.

“I know you were thinking of he-who-must-not-be-named-in-public a while ago,” their last movie night had involved a lot of Harry Potter, “you get this glazed love-struck look in your eyes whenever you do!” He considered arguing with her but realised she was most likely right in saying this.

“If you don’t believe me ask Prouvaire!” she continued, before adopting a much sterner tone, unusual for her. “Just don’t say anything… too mean to him tonight, ok? Just in case, you know?” She whispered, only loud enough for just the two of them to hear; Combeferre and Courfeyrac were up and ready to help Bahorel load in the band equipment now.

“Me? Too mean? Never!” Grantaire replied disbelievingly, but nodded in understanding afterwards. This internship must really mean a lot to Enjolras, and he found himself hoping to god that the leader got his place; he’d be utterly insufferable otherwise.

“See you later babe!” she hugged him excitedly before rushing off to find the poet, leaving Grantaire with the despairing Bahorel, Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

“Want to just plug it in and hit it till it works?” the former suggested with a menacing grin.

“Last one to the barricade gets the first round in tonight!” Courfeyrac yelled, disturbing the handful of other students pretending to enjoy their weird-tasting coffees and discussing the night’s festivities as he raced down to the bar, leaving Grantaire and Combeferre to struggle with the amp.


	7. Chapter 7

“Thanks everyone, and happy New Year when it comes!”  
After the final strum of his guitar, Grantaire rose from his stool and grinned widely at his band behind him. The reasonably crowded Musain cheered and clapped; “Good job you guys!!” He always found himself on a high after finishing a set; something about the mix of adrenaline and approval never failed to put him in a good mood. Perhaps in a different way from Montparnasse, however, who may have been high in a more literal sense.  
“Good?!” Bahorel exclaimed, already having downed a miscellaneous shot as they headed down from the barricade and towards their group table, “we were on fucking fire!”  
Once the applause dulled, Musichetta appeared – working (but not really working) her first shift since before Christmas - tottering towards the microphone in what should have been illegal high heels. Grantaire grinned as he heard Joly inform Bossuet that his secret Santa book, which was now a constant presence in their lives, stated that heels were one of the most common causes of broken limbs in females.  
“And transvestites surely? Don’t want to be misogynistic now!” the already slurring man interjected as he raised his eyebrows. Grantaire struggled to understand how Bossuet put up with the hypochondriac – like did he wrap them all in bubble wrap before they went to bed in case they fell out and died of internal bleeding in the night?! The artist’s cynical side was clearly out tonight, he decided, but tried not to let it get the better of him as he knew what Musichetta’s announcement was before she even said anything – karaoke!  
The l’amis had become infamous and would most likely go down in Musain history for their occasionally-brilliant-but-normally-awful-and-so-drunk-you-cant-even-stand excuse for karaoke, and they weren’t about to stop now.  
“So, ‘Ferre, where’s Enjolras tonight? We all promised to be here,” Marius asked as Grantaire took a seat in the middle of them.  
“I vouldn’t ask, it seems very complicate,” Feuilly stated, with Bahorel adding the missing “d” to save any confusion, but mostly for humorous effect. Immediately, Grantaire’s curiosity was sparked; either Enjolras had gotten his placement and was currently insufferably proud or he hadn’t and refused to leave his bed. Either way, Combeferre didn’t seem very eager to chat about it but did say that the nightmarish leader would be making an appearance later whether he fucking liked it or not. There were a few raised eyebrows slightly at this; Combeferre cursed so rarely that when he did it possessed so much more of an impact.  
Trying to distract himself until this appearance was made, at least, Grantaire narrowed his eyes at Eponine as she giggled with Jehan and Cosette before realising that the two girls were copying his own actions.  
“What d’you suppose they’re up to?” Combeferre asked quietly.  
“I’ve no idea and I don’t think I want to know at this point, perhaps they’re plotting a murder...” Jehan cackled loudly at Marius’ reply, and they all stared at each other in shock before collapsing into laughter. The crackle of the microphone as Musichetta finally figured out how to make it work properly though broke their giggles.  
"Ladies and gents, you know what I'm about to say! It's time for a traditional New Year sing-song!"  
Everyone wooped boisterously in excitement and Bossuet gave a wolf whistle. Musichetta blew him a kiss and continued, "This year our oh so witty title is ABSo You Think You Can Sing!"  
Everyone cringed as Courf’ patted himself on the back.  
"A good one if I do say so myself!"  
"Seriously awful," Combeferre sighed, rolling his eyes melodramatically.  
"Sooo, we'll start with a regular who's sure to get your New Year celebrations off to a brilliant start!" She gestured to theirs crowd, and Jehan leapt up, almost knocking an entire table of drinks over as he did so and shouting, "This is my time to shine, my lovelies, my time to shine!"  
Of course he sang ‘Man I Feel Like a Woman’, and somehow managed to put on a full length sparkly skirt (stolen earlier from Cosette's wardrobe as she'd looked for shoes apparently) in the process. Other students attempted to follow in their footsteps, but no group seemed to be able to match the likes of the l'amis: Cosette dragged Marius up for a surprisingly decent rendition of Grease's ‘Summer Nights’; Joly and Bossuet combined their not too terrible voices in their own version of ‘Don' Cha’ by the Pussycat Dolls aimed at ‘Chetta (“Don'cha wish your girlfriend was hot like her?!”); Courfeyrac used the same method to modify ‘Dancing Queen’ to suit himself (“I am the Dancing Queeeeen!”); and at that particular moment - after downing some sort of Polish cocktail made by Feuilly which tasted of cold and disappointment, Grantaire, Bahorel, Bossuet and Courfeyrac were screaming out the lyrics to ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ in a very Winchester-inspired manner.  
As they returned to yet another round of shots, Grantaire could feel the room begin to spin around him but refused to give in to the demanding control alcohol had on him - not until Enjolras arrived at least.  
"Right you, you're singing the next one with me whether you like it or not!" Eponine declared as she grabbed Combeferre's hand and dragged him towards the karaoke mics. She whispered something into Musichetta's ear and Grantaire thought the barmaid might fall over in her heels laughing, but Eponine wrapped an arm around her boyfriend's waist and handed him a microphone; nodding drunkenly and fervently. As the music began Grantaire recognised it instantly; it was the song she'd forced him - at risk of severe pain - to sing with her into hairbrushes all the way through school. It was a good job he was gay.  
"Oh god she isn't, the poor poor boy!" he exclaimed, looking around the group to see if anyone else knew the song that had just been selected.  
"What is it though?!" Bahorel and Courf asked each other.  
"How can you not know this?!" Jehan and Cosette said in unison, both shocked and mildly offended.  
Before they had time to argue it out any more, Eponine had burst into the first line; disregarding the auto queue completely as she'd known this song practically since birth.  
"Don't go breaking my heart!" Combeferre looked absolutely terrified, but proceeded to surprise everyone with his strong deep voice. When they’d finished, Eponine accidentally but proudly declared through the sound system: "I fucking love you!!" Combeferre, of course, went scarlet and pulled Eponine back to their seat with an embarrassed grin.  
"Glad you finally found a new duet partner, Ep, I was just slightly sick of that song!" Grantaire called across the table.  
“Yeah well,” Eponine glanced at Combeferre proudly, clearly as shocked as everyone at how well he’d performed under pressure, “he’s better than you anyway!” He raised his eyebrows at this.  
“Is that a challenge? I think that’s a challenge!” Bahorel called as he downed yet another drink – it was not yet past eleven but no one planned to stop him; only join him. Not a single song sprung to mind as Grantaire was pushed to his feet by Courfeyrac and started making his way towards the stage for the third time that night. The only thing in his drunken head was the golden haired image of Enjolras and that wasn’t helping him choose a song; or was it?  
Reaching the barricade, the art student mumbled to Musichetta – who let out an “Awesome!” - before taking the mic off the stand and waiting for the track to start, feeling tipsily confident. If Enjolras wasn't here yet but was definitely coming, then he should definitely take the chance to sing about him now rather than later.  
Grantaire grinned as the famous guitar intro of Blondie’s ‘One Way or Another’ started up, but it only lasted until the Musain door swung open and a tall, blonde, red jacketed man strolled in a second later – you have got to be joking, Grantaire thought. His mouth fell open; this music, to that swag? Holy hell how was he still standing?!  
Enjolras was welcomed with warm greetings from their group - not that Grantaire could hear them over the music – but the law student’s face was even grimmer than its usual blank expression. The art student, still on stage microphone in hand, realised immediately that Enjolras must have been unsuccessful in gaining that internship. He felt something strange that couldn’t be described as pity – he wouldn’t dare call it pity – but perhaps empathy. Grantaire knew what it meant to be rejected in more ways than one so, in a way, had the ability to know how Enjolras must have been feeling.  
Then he felt the eyes on him and remembered where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Shit, he had to sing this song now?!  
Grantaire jumped out of his daydream as he saw Courfeyrac point to him and Enjolras’ stare land on his own; the introduction must be way past now. Miraculously for him though, it wasn’t – Christ, the last five seconds had gone slowly – and Grantaire drew his eyes away from his table and onto the autocue. As he sang it - and sang it well if he did say so himself - Grantaire had to do his best to avoid staring at Enjolras too obviously and shooting daggers at Eponine who was currently winking at the end of every line.  
When the song drew to a close, everyone applauded happily – even Enjolras clapped a couple of times, though extremely half-heartedly; obviously just trying to be polite. Grantaire had never seen him so down before, not that he saw him an awful lot apart from group nights out and protests – angry yes, but always passionately angry; never sad angry. Sad angry was usually Grantaire’s forte. He noticed though, now that Enjolras’ jacket was off, he was wearing the t-shirt Eponine had given him for Christmas.  
“Brilliant, R, as always!” Courfeyrac enthused, patting him on the back as he sat down.  
“Who’s next then, I think nearly everyone’s been except from...” Bahorel glanced at Enjolras, who scowled instead of answering.  
“I wouldn’t!” Combeferre warned, putting a comforting hand on his best friend’s shoulder. The grumpy golden god might not have wanted to accept support such as this, but made no effort to shake him off. Before anyone could drag the gloomy law student up to the mic – god only knows what he would have sung – Grantaire noticed something.  
“Hey, where’d Ep and Jehan go?” he said with a puzzled look. Marius searched the room before declaring, “They went during your song, R. Cosette went with them, but I thought they’d have been back by now…”  
“And ‘Chetta too!” Joly added; Bossuet was too busy muttering with Bahorel to notice his shared girlfriend hadn’t made an appearance since before Grantaire’s performance.  
Before any more confused, and on Joly’s part worried, looks could be shared between the guys though, the lights dimmed in the pub, forcing even more confusion. Feuilly jumped with fright, thinking it to be a power failure, but a spotlight from an unknown location (“Since when was there a spotlight in here?!”) suddenly shone on a figure on the barricade, drawing everyone’s attention; blatantly Jehan.  
He was looking straight at their group table, a smirk showing under the spotlight, every eye in the place now on the poet. There was just a slight buzz of chatter as his voice sounded from the speakers.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he boomed, still grinning manically, “welcome to the Moulin Rouge!”  
Jehan did a slight bow and gestured a hand in a presenting manner before leaving the stage, the first line kicking in straight away by a voice no one could place.  
“Where’s all my soul sister’s? Lemme hear y’all flow sistas!”  
“Who’s that?!” Bahorel asked; the voice was unrecognisable and no one seemed to be able to give him an answer, though it sounded familiar to Grantaire, who was worried the girls might just have forced a random unsuspecting other girl to join them. He was certain this was a four verse song – Jehan had certainly played it enough for him to know for sure – and he swore he heard a pretty impressive four part harmony as the girls sang the introduction.  
The music had started then, and the guys at their table erupted with a chorus of confused but happily surprised “Did they tell you?!”s and “I had no idea!”s. Before anyone came into view on stage, they came to the conclusion that the girls (Jehan included, although he had only introduced the performance) had kept it a total secret – not even letting their respective other halves in on it. The poet had been wearing a feather boa so he was perfectly content, and the l’amis were all ninety eight percent sure he’d probably choreographed the whole thing. They would have discussed it further if Cosette hadn’t appeared on the barricade at that moment; long blonde hair loose, lips very pink, feather boa sparkling as she sang into the face mic (“Where the fuck did they come from?!” Grantaire had said).  
“He met Marmalade down in old Moulin Rouge, struttin’ her stuff on the street…”  
Marius’ mouth fell open, and Feuilly had to lean over to knock it shut.  
“You vill ketch flies, Pontmercy,” he mumbled, not blaming him one bit as Cosette was normally so innocent. Grantaire wondered how drunk she was, and decided very as she put her hands on her hips and proceeded to strut confidently on the small stage. The heavy dark eyeliner – unusual for her as she was so used to a much more delicate style - defined her bright eyes perfectly, and she looked so excited about the whole concept.  
The spotlight spun around to the back of the Musain, and everyone turned along with it just in time to see Musichetta parade through the room, getting ogled as she passed tables of gawping men. She paused to stroke Joly’s face at the l’amis’ table and continued the song.  
“She said hello, hey Joe, you wanna give it a go?”  
The hypochondriac looked as if he might faint, and, so as not to leave Bossuet out when he looked mildly hurt, she ran back to brush a hand through his hair affectionately. When the spotlight panned to fit both of them, still singing, Cosette had somehow managed to climb atop one of the Musain tables and blew a kiss in Marius’ direction which he returned proudly. ‘Chetta had her own feather boa – deep purplish red to match her lipstick and impossibly tight dress; it was a wonder, Grantaire, observed, that she still managed to move like that. The two of them sang the chorus accompanied in the background by the two other still out of sight girls and, inevitably, Courfeyrac couldn’t help himself when they reached the “Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce coir”s.  
“Qui, absolument!!” He called to them before being slapped simultaneously by three offended boyfriends. Musichetta sang the verse that, in the original, had been Pink’s (God, Grantaire hated Jehan sometimes) – and she was perfect. They didn’t know why she hadn’t mentioned her voice before; husky and rocky and everything Grantaire loved. The entire pub was practically on their feet by now, clapping along to this impromptu surprise with more and more people filing in as the doors were opened. After the second chorus and a rather impressive set of dance moves, a third performer marched out from behind the makeshift curtain that looked unmistakably like dressing gowns – and it definitely wasn’t Eponine. Grantaire couldn’t make her face out to begin with – only dark hair and curves, and decided it must have been one of Ep’s course friends. When she walked into the light and began to rap, however, it clicked.  
“Oh my fucking god…”  
“I’m in love!” Bahorel declared as the girl shimmied between Cosette and Musichetta. Grantaire tried to express his disapproval but no words would form; definitely in shock.  
“Hey, R, isn’t tha-” Jehan began to ask, but the art student managed to force out a jumbled sentence.  
“That’smyfuckingsister!!” As he shouted this, the mystery girl winked at him and continued to dance.  
“Duude, your sister’s quite something!”  
“I swear to god, Courf I will kill you if you even consider it!” He was going to kill Eponine first though he decided as his best friend made her own entrance at the beginning of the last verse, she must have known about this for weeks – months even! He tried to be angry at her, he really tried, but she was so brilliant with all her flawless high notes that he found it near impossible. Combeferre seemed to be undergoing the same conflict.  
“I want to hate her for not telling me but... I just love her so much!” he gushed; drink making him much more affectionate than usual as he was unable to tear his eyes away from his stunning girlfriend who had wrapped her own bright red feather boa around her tiny waist and was now inventing what looked like her own freestyle dance moves. Grantaire turned to tell him he knew exactly what he meant, but caught another pair of eyes on him instead. His gaze was met momentarily by a glint of icy blue. Had Enjolras just been looking – staring even – at him?!  
Everything was happening far too quickly and if Grantaire didn't stop drinking sometime soon he was going to hate himself in the morning if not sooner. No one else seemed to be slowing down though - and Enjolras appeared to be literally drowning his law placement sorrows by drinking anything he could find. Grantaire hoped someone would get him home alright but didn't trust himself to do the job without saying something stupid – not that he’d be welcomed anyway. Not something that he'd regret but something he knew the leader would not take well.  
As the girls sang the last chorus, Eponine and Cosette both jumping down to join the other two and, amazingly not slipping in their killer heels, they ended on the traditional "Oooooh, yeeesssaah!!". Musichetta stood back to back with Grantaire’s sister (he still couldn't believe she was actually here) and arm each punching up in the air; Cosette and Eponine mirrored this on either side, both falling purposefully to one knee. It sounded as if the Musain might explode at any moment when the cheering began, and Bahorel broke out his supersonic wolf whistle for the occasion.  
"Bahorel - three boyfriends and a big brother," Jehan warned, "I wouldn't!"  
The girls came running back to the table and into a sea of compliments and disbelief; Eponine being instantly scooped up by Combeferre as she wrapped her feather boa around his neck, Cosette perching in Marius' lap, and Joly and Bossuet actually lifting Musichetta into the air on their shoulders. Before he knew what hit him, the remaining performer had thrown herself at Grantaire, hugging him almost uncomfortably tightly; he'd always been surprised that such a small girl could be so strong - likewise with Eponine - but nevertheless he hugged back equally tightly.  
“Hey, Gen,” he was smiling into her volumised-for-the-occasion hair.  
"You can't deny it now everyone's seen, you missed me!" she said, as he held her at arm’s length, hands on her shoulders, trying to stop himself from commenting on how much she'd grown, like an auntie would do.  
"No offence, Gen but, what the fuck are you doing here?!" It had to be asked, after all.  
"Can't I pay my big brother a surprise visit?!" She looked a bit offended. "I'm finished with school and believe it or not we missed you at Christmas, I'm here now so deal with it!" She hugged him again as she looked around the group, "aren't you gonna introduce me...?"  
It took Grantaire a moment to respond, everything still felt like a bit of a dream – definitely the alcohol doing his thinking for him. Although, if it were a dream, he knew one thing that would most certainly be happening. He allowed himself a brief glance at Enjolras; currently being drunk under the table by an amused Courfeyrac – taking advantage of the unusual opportunity to let everyone see the usually oh-so-high-and-mighty leader drunk.  
“Uuh, R?” Genevieve waved a hand in front of his face to get his attention, grinning knowingly before leaning in to whisper, “wait, that’s him isn’t it?! Oh my god I totally understand!”  
“What?! Who tol- Eponine?!” he glared at his best friend as she laughed happily with Jehan, meeting his narrowed eyes contentedly; she knew exactly what she was doing. And she was going to be smug about it too, Grantaire could just tell. Changing the subject quickly, he cleared his throat and announced: “Eh, everyone, this is my sister, Genevieve...”  
“Gen,” she corrected, always had done (“Why did mum and dad give us such long names, it’s such a hassle?!”)  
“Yeah, Gen. Well you know Ep, who I’m not talking to, and Jehan kinda, and you clearly know ‘Chetta and Cosette now. Sooo this is,” Grantaire took a breath and went from left to right, “Joly, Bossuet, Marius, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Bahorel, Feuilly and Enjolras.”  
The tipsy group greeted her warmly and Courf returned yet again to the bar for ‘celebration introduction shots’ – any excuse. The artist couldn’t help but notice how Enjolras had reacted when he’d said his name; it had been a sort of jerky flinch, like his voice burned – or the alcohol in the leader’s system did.  
As Genevieve began telling the amis about herself, Eponine appeared next to Grantaire with a puppy dog butter-wouldnt-melt expression.  
“Don’t even, Ep, I am not talking to you!” he folded his arms defiantly and turned away. She stood up on her tiptoes in order to place her chin on his shoulder.  
“Come ooon, R, it’s New Year’s Eve! And you can’t tell me you’re not glad to see Gen!” She had a point – albeit an inebriated point but a point none the less - he supposed.  
“Ugh fine, but you owe me!”  
“Looove youuu!” she kissed his cheek forcefully.  
As Courfeyrac returned with an alcohol-laden tray and a cocktail shaker – god knows where he’d found that – Grantaire returned the sentiment and set them all the challenge of drinking more than they’d ever drunk before. Anything that might convince him that Enjolras wasn’t staring at him angrily, again. What the fuck was his problem, he hadn’t said a word to him and he still looked like he wanted to punch his lights out?!  
By the time the sixth round of shots had been bought, Grantaire couldn’t feel his face. Was that normal? Christ he didn’t even know how to tell when he was properly gone – he couldn’t even do that one thing right!  
The artist put his head in his hands and tried to make the room stop spinning. All around him was laughter and noise and gleeful chatter: Gen had, as he expected, fitted right in with their little band of misfits and was currently trying to teach totally plastered Courf and Bahorel how to do the splits as Joly slurred a moan about the dangers of not warming up before engaging in gymnastics. Feuilly had been experimenting with the dodgy cocktail ingredients again, and Grantaire felt it now. He couldn’t be the first to admit defeat, but he’d sworn he noticed Marius make a brisk trip to the bathroom a few minutes earlier and return looking a lot less peaky. Or was it ten minutes? God Grantaire didn’t know what the hell time it was or anything now.  
He sat upright again and the decision was made; it was too warm. He felt himself burning up and rushed away from the crowded space at the group table, unsure whether or not anyone noticed. What a poor excuse for a drunk.

Grantaire had his hands flat on the cold work surface either side of the sink, head bowed, breathing deeply. The kitchen was cool and dark, exactly what he needed right now; if he had stayed in the crowded pub a second longer he was sure he would’ve thrown up on something, or passed out. Glancing up for a second, slowly, the tiles a foot from his face were spinning ever so slightly, unclear and fuzzy; not that he could see them particularly well anyway due to the lights being out – it had nothing to do with how pissed he was, not at all.  
Closing his eyes, Grantaire dipped his head back down. What had Feuilly put in that cocktail? Or was it those shots Bossuet had shoved into his hand… Christ. And where was his cardigan?  
The wasted art student went to pull it tighter around himself but found nothing to hold, only his t-shirt. Rubbing his face, half opening his eyes, Grantaire could see a shelf full of upside down pint glasses in front of him. He snatched one and, diving for the sink again, smashed it unintentionally hard against the tap. The glass shattered in his shaking hand.  
“Ah, fuck,” he sighed, dropping what was left of the glass into the sink. It was a miracle he hadn’t cut his hand open.  
Reaching for the shards, Grantaire placed them on the counter, looking round the kitchen – too quickly as the room was spinning again – for the bin, which was in the corner by the door. That was too far, he wasn’t budging in his state. His ears were still throbbing from the blaring music of the pub and the mostly god-awful karaoke.  
Turning back to the wall, the art student took another glass and filled it carefully this time, drinking down the ice-like water in large gulps. Even his intoxicated state couldn't stop Grantaire noticing the door banging open then and hearing heavy footsteps on the tiles. Turning slowly - now more accustomed to how drunk he actually was – he sniffed as his brow ruffled, trying to recognise the louder-than-should-be person. If they continued their clatter would give him a headache and Grantaire could not be bothered with that tonight. Not in a million years would Grantaire have guessed who the noisy drunkard turned out to be, and even the alcohol in his system couldn’t prevent his eyes widening and his mouth opening and closing in shock.  
Enjolras, curls out of their usual immaculate state, jeans tight as anything, was clutching the work top on his side of the kitchen with one hand, while the other rubbed his exhausted face.  
Grantaire stared for a few seconds as the leader, appeared to, read the time off his watch, before yanking the fridge door open and grabbing an obviously-not-needed-nother beer. This forced Grantaire to reach into his pocket for his phone; he had completely lost track of whatever the hell time it was. Eleven forty five-ish. This barely registered in the art student’s brain as he shoved his phone into his back pocket, starting to speak.  
"Eeevur I'm really pissed," Grantaire pointed half-heartedly at himself, "or you are too," he sniggered, pointing over at the blonde who had jumped, head snapping round, obviously not thinking anyone else would be in a darkened kitchen at quarter to midnight.  
Grantaire’s completely pissed state had made him forget Enjolras' lack of humour, or that the two never usually shared jokes ever. And this was no different now.  
“Christ, whozzat? Izzit you ‘Ferre?” Enjolras was so evidently drunk, Grantaire ended up in a fit of giggles there and then. “No, no, no wait… Izzit-”  
“Grantaire. Its Grantaire.”  
This came out before he could stop himself; drunk Grantaire obviously didn’t think to realise that the mention of his name would probably be the one to make Enjolras turn and stumble back out the kitchen again without a glance behind him. He must be imagining things though; Enjolras didn’t move, he stood rooted to his spot next to the still open fridge.  
“Aaaah, right yeah. Knew the voice, yupp, mmhmm.”  
Grantaire frowned, searching his alcohol-induced brain for a reason as to how or why Enjolras could have ended up as bad as him; not even Courfeyrac could get him to drink more than a half pint usually. At the minute he was putting his bets on Bahorel.  
The fridge door slammed shut and Enjolras leant his head against the metal surface, sighing angrily. Grantaire followed suit and leant his own weight upon the counter behind him.  
"Are you alright?" he questioned, genuinely concerned about the way the leader looked as if he might fall over at any second. Thank god for the fridge.  
"No I'm not fucking alright. I didn't get my fucking placement, and now my whole fucking future is questionable and I don't know what's going to happen!" he ranted, flailing his free hand around.  
"But… you'll gedditt next time, won't you?" Grantaire tried to be as supportive as he possibly could - it was hard when you were this wasted - anything to stop the blonde leaving.  
The only light in the kitchen was that shining in through the circular windows in the swing doors, and seen as the pub was so dimly lit, this was hardly anything. But still, the light shone so perfectly on Enjolras' face as he swayed back round to face the waiting Grantaire. Grantaire who couldn't help but smile, which the blonde blatantly picked up on.  
"Don’t look at me lie that, everyone's always so expectant of me an’ I'm fed up of it! Plus no, actually, this is final year remember? I don’t get any more chances fur placements or anything! That’s it!" he exclaimed, furrowing his brows, scrunching his nose up, and folding his arms. God he looked like a pissed off kitten or something. Kittenjolras, Grantaire mused, still smirking.  
"Wh- what dyou mean..?" the art student grabbed a bottle from the side, settling for wine, and clutched it to his chest; he wasn't getting into the fridge anytime soon, not unless he got past the drunken, moody blonde stood in his way. Enjolras was shooting him an incredulous look at his question, making the art student realise he hadn’t asked the right thing.  
“I meant, eh…” Grantaire frowned, clutching the bridge of his nose, wine bottle almost slipping from his grip, “Yeah! What d’you mean about expectant fed-up-ness?”  
Enjolras had stumbled forward by now, leaning on the worktop between him and the dark haired mess of a man. Grantaire could see now the blonde was paler than his usual tanned complexion, and looking like he could throw up at any second.  
"Aaa mean that I'm their leader. An’ everyone just expects thah am just gonna be fucking perfect all the fucking time... issnot fair!" he argued, and Grantaire couldn't help but grin.  
Christ he was so hot when he was angry, and adding adorably drunk to this made the art student's face flush in the dark.  
Enjolras had his head bowed, not seeing the grin, hand resting on the back of his neck, "I just... That's not me, all thuh time... I dunno..."  
He shook his head and his golden curls swayed, Grantaire staring confusedly.  
"Wait, whaa? Enjolras-"  
"I am always the one people come to with their fucking problems, an’ sometimes I just..." he breathed out heavily.  
It hit Grantaire then how surprised he was at Enjolras acting so suddenly... human with him – drunk or not. Sure, they'd known each other well over a year now, but this was Enjolras, and he never in a million years opened up; especially not to Grantaire.  
"Enjolras, why are you- I don't-"  
"No, Grantaire, please just... Just listen to me... please..."  
The art student saw something in the leader's eyes then – despite the alcohol - that made him stop, mouth open slightly, and nod.  
"I hate being leader, chief, whatever the fuck its they think I am! Thass not, I mean it is but..."  
"But your protests. You love doin’ them…?"  
"Oh god yeah, I mean I do like being leader or whatever, but..."  
At the end of the day though, all Enjolras was really was human, with feelings and emotions, even if he didn't always show them. They were still there, buried deep down, where probably not even Enjolras himself could reach them. Although, maybe they were closer to the surface than people realised... Christ they must be the way he was going on.  
"Thass all they see me as, nothing else..."  
"Enjolras, they're your friends, of course they do! Don't be stupid-"  
"Don't call me stupid!"  
The blonde raised his beer bottle straight out in front of him as he pointed at Grantaire.  
"I din't mean- Sorry..."  
It wasn't anger the art student was seeing on Enjolras' face then though, it was more like... Sadness? Worry?  
Grantaire wondered if anyone else had ever seen him like this, 'the human', not the strong, looked-up-to chief that Enjolras was, or was seen as anyway. He doubted it – maybe with the exception of ‘Ferre.  
Everyone in their group, and without, including himself Grantaire realised, built Enjolras up to be this idol of strength and support and power, and Enjolras knew that’s what people thought of him, and expected. Grantaire had never stopped to think about how this could affect a person before, but supposed Enjolras more than came across as wanting to take charge so no wonder it hadn't occurred to the adoring art student. Christ, he must have a lot of bloody strong walls up normally if he's like this right now, Grantaire thought.  
"I know... Sorry," Enjolras looked moody again.  
Grantaire wanted to say something to distract the blonde man from his annoyed outburst, but knew he'd probably get shot down again. Trying couldn't hurt though.  
"Look, Enjolras, don't you thi-"  
"Don't, Grantaire, alright?" his voice wasn't as angry as expected, "Juss listening to me is enough, honestly. The number of times I've just wanted to givvup with the whole leader image..."  
He shook his head, Grantaire, curious, daring to push this further, amazed at what he was hearing. Either Enjolras was way more drunk than he realised or wanted to be; or he thought Grantaire was way too drunk to remember this in the morning - probably both.  
"Why d’you do it then? I mean, why can't you just be like this, be you? You can talk to us- I mean, Ferre, he'd under-"  
"No, no he wouldn't..." Enjolras' brow was scrunched up, eyes wider, fidgeting. What was so wrong with him...  
Grantaire would have asked him this if his earlier feeling to throw up hadn’t gone, but thankfully it had, and he started moving to go get another beer from the fridge, passing the seemingly still moody blonde, setting the wine bottle down on the worktop.  
"I don't get you, Grantaire!" Enjolras suddenly said, stopping the art student where he stood. The blonde sat his drink down on the counter next to the wine. He wasn't looking at Grantaire, but in the direction of where he had been standing moments before. The art student opened his mouth to reply, taken aback by Enjolras' blunt statement, but the blonde man beat him to it.  
"I mean, just now you make out like we’re mates but… usually you’re just ripping apart all I stand for! I mean, what the fuck, man?!"  
Grantaire didn't know quite how to reply now, and it took him a couple of seconds to fully register what Enjolras had said.  
"Wha- What d’you mean you 'dont get me'?" this had left his mouth before he had time to stop it, and it was snappier than he meant it to be.  
Enjolras' features darkened; a look of almost disgust on his face. He turned to stare Grantaire straight in the eye, who was regretting asking this question now; or rather not the question, but his drunkenness making him say it the way he had - it had obviously touched a nerve.  
He waited for the blonde’s answer, if it would ever come, Enjolras’ expression fierce. The music out in the pub was now dulled somewhat in the kitchen, and the younger of the two men, standing glaring each other, realised and again wondered how they had ended up in here.  
“Fuck, Grantaire, I…”  
Enjolras shook his head, breaking the stare, a pained expression coming across for a brief moment as he ran a shaking hand through his golden hair. But before Grantaire could take in this sudden change in emotion, Enjolras was on him, breath leaving his body in a gasp as lips crashed full onto the art student’s own. His hands were on Grantaire’s neck, fingertips reaching into his dark hair and scrunching up as if Enjolras was trying to grab on and not let go.  
The art student’s eyes were open when Enjolras had come into contact with him, shocking him into letting out a moan of confusion. But the golden haired god had not let go, or shown any sign of wanting to because he was still locked onto Grantaire’s lips. He could feel how tense Enjolras was, his body pressed against his; his mouth just… God he tasted of tequila or something worse. But that didn’t matter to Grantaire; or did it? He couldn’t think straight. Hell, he could hardly think at all what with the alcohol in his system plus Enjolras practically on top of him.  
“En-” Grantaire was frowning hard, voice muffled and hands up at Enjolras’ chest now; though whether he was trying to push him off or keep him from stopping he didn’t know. The smaller of the two managed to free his lips from the blonde’s awkward attempt at a kiss then, long enough to let out, “Enjolras, stop!”  
Now Grantaire managed to shove him off, reaching up to wipe his bottom lip, both men panting with their mouths hanging open. Neither could look the other in the eye, but Grantaire stared at the red t-shirted chest as he gathered his breath, not daring to look up into the face of the man wearing it. Despite not looking fully at Enjolras though, Grantaire could still see how defeated he looked; defeated, very confused and, was that anger?  
Now their eyes met; briefly at first but, the second time, they held each other’s strong stare again. God knows what could have been being said between the pair in that look. Enjolras opened his mouth and made a noise like he’d choked on what he was about to say, leaning back against the work top again to steady himself; he was swaying slightly. Grantaire on the other hand felt wide awake, like the kiss – if you could call that a kiss – had sobered him up and cleared his mind. It hit him then, the realisation, full force like a wave crashing into him.  
Enjolras had just kissed him.  
Grantaire saw then, in his mind, a large puzzle, made up of pieces of him and Enjolras and the times they’d interacted and disputed over the year and a half that they had known who each other was. Before everything had been scattered wildly, never making any sense because of the confusion Enjolras had caused Grantaire, but now… Now things were starting to slot together; things were making sense to the art student in that moment right there, in the Musain kitchen with Enjolras across from him. At least this explained a few things… he thought anyway.  
“I-” Enjolras could barely get that one tiny syllable out; he looked fucking petrified, eyes wide and hair messed up to shit. “I’ve got to…” he tried again as he pushed himself up from the worktop, slowly making to leave and enter the pub again. The golden haired man would have done this for sure, definitely, if Grantaire’s mind hadn’t suddenly stopped thinking again and forced him to take two strides towards Enjolras, grab his arm, turn him round, slam the guy against the fridge door, and bring his lips up onto the others.  
Grantaire waited to feel fists shove him off like he had done previously; waited for the groan and shouts of complaint from the other man… But they didn’t come.  
Instead he felt strong fingers wind themselves tightly into his matted hair, and the previously hesitant lips become suddenly curious; searching for something more. They moved swiftly and messily against his own, dry and chapped thanks to the weather. Why the fuck was he thinking about the weather when he was kissing – and not innocently at that – a god?!  
Grantaire was utterly convinced that the intoxicated law student would pull away at any second and, when he failed to – instead looping powerful arms around Grantaire’s waist and tugging him around in a circle in order to reverse dominance in his favour (typical) - he decided that he’d most definitely slipped and fallen on the concrete kitchen floor and bashed his head. Yup, right now he was either passed out in an ambulance on the way to A&E or he’d simply died and gone to heaven. And if this were true, he planned to make the most of his time there while it lasted – he might never find himself there again.  
Noses bumped, hands wandered and tongues collided in a series of teasing flicks as the kiss became all the while more forceful, and Grantaire found himself indescribably grateful for the cool purr of the fridge behind him. The little groans Enjolras was making were enough to send Grantaire over the edge; holy Christ.  
He didn’t dare open his eyes in case the scene evaporated before him like a drunken fantasy – because perhaps that’s all it was – but as their foreheads pressed together Grantaire could feel that Enjolras was frowning; his brows furrowing deeply. He seemed to be debating something as his mouth left the artist’s momentarily.  
Although they were apart for a mere millisecond, Grantaire’s head followed instinctively; unwilling for their brief connection to be over so soon. If it didn’t end now he was definitely either dead or dreaming; what a way to bring in the New Year: “Happy New Year everyone, Grantaire’s unconscious in the kitchen!”  
Shit this was a party, which meant lots of people that he had somehow forgotten (although who could blame him when Enjolras’ lips made their decision and reconnected – fervent and desperate - with his?!) and who may be looking for him – or them! They’d probably think Enjolras had finally snapped and murdered him in the alley for being so damn opinionated. In a way he had snapped, but not in the way anyone had expected him to. In fact definitely not in the way anyone had expected, especially Grantaire.  
Enjolras’ traced his bottom lip lightly, almost gently, before balling his hands in Grantaire’s alcohol-stained shirt and finally willing himself to pull away abruptly. He knocked his head against the artist’s once in frustration, and took a step back. The moment was over. Now they had to deal with the aftermath, and by the furious look in Enjolras’ eyes it wasn’t going to be pretty.  
The artist felt sick from both drink and desire as he struggled for something to say. On the plus side he wasn’t dead after all – but what the fuck had just happened?! He staggered slightly, willing the room to stop spinning for a minute at least. It was as if their roles had been switched then; Enjolras now seemed more sober than Grantaire, who was using the worktop as a support and shaking slightly. Christ, where had that kiss even come from?!  
It had obviously left an impression on the art student; his chest rose and fell quickly as he took back the air Enjolras had stolen away in the kiss, and his eyes were wide but looked glazed over. Enjolras was panting too, but instead of the almost dreamy expression Grantaire was wearing, looked like he’d just killed a man; hands fisted and the disgusted look back on his exquisite face. The artist chanced a look up at Enjolras who had his eyes focussed on the kitchen floor; Grantaire dropped his gaze as he heard chanting start up out in the pub.  
“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!...”  
He was pulled out of his dream-like state then; he had to say something, they couldn’t wait here forever in this tense moment after what had just happened.  
“En- Enjolras, I-”  
The transferred look from the floor to his eyes that Enjolras gave Grantaire then was enough to shut him up; if looks could kill...  
A panic rose in the artist’s gut, making the sick feeling rise up into his throat and clog his mind for what to say next. The pub was still loud with the midnight countdown.  
“FIVE! FOUR! THREE!...”  
He shook his head as he tried adding to his previous attempt, “Enjolras, look, I-” Grantaire took a step forward which immediately he regretted. Enjolras recoiled and immediately made for the door, not saying a single word in return. The kitchen door swung open as a cheer went up from the pub, deafening Grantaire as he stood there staring at where Enjolras had just left from.  
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”  
He didn’t know what to do; what could he do? The panic was still there as the door banged shut again and he winced at the sound. Grantaire was alone in the semi-dark, his mind running away with itself as it went over and over the events which had just unfolded. Did he jump up and down and laugh, or sink down into a corner and sit quietly, wide eyed?  
Eponine. Eponine would know what he should do. She always knew.  
The alcohol didn’t somehow feel as effective as Grantaire staggered forward and pushed the kitchen door open, laughter and shouting meeting his ears. The crowd of people was suffocating to the artist as he pushed through countless couples, kissing and hugging, bringing in the New Year with shouts and singing.  
Where was Eponine; Grantaire needed her right now?! He had passed Bossuet, Musichetta and Joly, all pressed together in a tight little huddle; and then, had he actually seen Bahorel up on the bar with Courfeyrac’s arms round his ankles? Probably.  
Why the fuck had he gotten so pissed?! Grantaire was on the verge of stepping out the pub for air when a shout from behind flooded him with relief.  
“‘Taire! Oh my god, ‘Taire, there you are!! Where have you been? Oh my god, no wait, look, look!” Eponine was grinning her head off as she bounded onto him, squealing like nothing else, and holding up her left hand in front of the artist’s face; a silver ring was placed on her ring finger.  
“Ep… oh my god. Are you two…?” Grantaire looked at Combeferre stood behind her, hand on her shoulder and smiling as she leant her head back against his chest. The pair nodded simultaneously; Eponine a little more enthusiastically than her man.  
“Yeah, oh my god, R, I can’t believe it! He just asked me at midnight then and I said yes and just, Christ I can’t believe it! I’m so happy!!” she had tears brimming her eyes now – this was Eponine?! - as she turned slightly to wrap her arms round her boyfriend-turned-fiancé’s waist, still grinning. For a moment, Grantaire was distracted – for maybe a brief second at most - from his Enjolras worries, and tried his best to smile convincingly as he congratulated the happy couple.  
“Guys, wow! Congratulations, I’m so happy for you both… wow Ep!” he pulled Eponine into a tight hug and kissed her cheek, before shaking Combeferre’s hand and clapping him on the back.  
“Thanks, man. We were gonna try and find the rest of the guys to tell them but so far we’ve only found Feuilly, and there’s no way we’re disturbing Bahorel and Courf up there,” ‘Ferre nodded towards the bar where the two named were still singing at the tops of their voices.  
Grantaire gave a small chuckle, “Yeah, good plan.” He just wanted to go home and crash.  
“We haven’t seen Marius and Cosette in a while, and Enj left a few minutes ago so…”  
Grantaire stared at Combeferre when he said this, feeling his face flush, and the sick feeling stormed his stomach again. After a second he dropped his gaze, trying desperately to act as normal as he could; or at least as much as the alcohol would let him. A glance in Eponine’s direction told Grantaire though that she knew something was up; the smile had faded slightly and her forehead held the hint of a frown. He didn’t dare look back at her, but instead cleared his throat.  
“Eh, guys, I’m feeling pretty crap so I think I might just head home. I’ll see you guys tomorrow or whenever though. And congratulations again, honestly, I’m so happy for you guys.”  
“Oh, right ok, mate. You want us to walk you? I mean, we’re kinda finished here aren’t we, Ep?” Combeferre winked at his fiancé as Grantaire continued.  
“No, guys, it’s fine you don’t have to. I’ll be alright, you stay and have fun if you want, don’t leave on my part,” he tried a smile. “Say bye to the others for me?”  
Combeferre nodded at him, smiling back, “Will do, mate.”  
“And, Ep, can you make sure Gen gets home alright? Wherever she’s staying, god, I didn’t even offer her the couch!”  
“She can stay at mine, R, she’s got my keys,” she smiled, as Grantaire gave a “Thanks” in return.  
The artist turned to leave, rubbing his face and breathing in deeply. A hand grabbed his arm though before he could even reach the door.  
“R, wait a minute! I didn’t want to ask in front of ‘Ferre, but… babe, what’s wrong? And don’t tell me you’re fine ‘cause I know you’re not!” Eponine was a fucking great friend and worrier when she needed to be. He looked down at her, torn between pulling her outside telling her everything, or just shrugging it off and heading straight to bed.  
He sighed, “I- Look, Ep, it’s nothing ok? Don’t worry…” she raised an eyebrow, and he sighed again. “Fine, ok! But can I tell you tomorrow? I’m fucking exhausted,” Grantaire actually felt like crying if he was honest, but he kept that to when he was alone. Eventually, Eponine nodded at him slowly, still eyeing him wearily, “Ok… ok, babe. Just, text me when you’re home, yeah? And be safe getting back. Don’t worry about Gen.”  
She smiled at him, then seeing how upset he looked, pulled him into another hug, kissing his cheek as she did so, “Aw, babe!”  
“Thanks, Ep,” he said into her shoulder, praying the tears would not start until he was home.  
“I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”  
Leaving the Musain was better than a breath of fresh air; Grantaire stopped just outside on the street for a few seconds just to breathe deeply again, letting his head fall back. He passed a few couples on the way back to his flat – including Marius and Cosette who were on a bench outside the Musain, looking extremely happy and loved up, so didn’t disturb them – and all reminded him of what had happened between him and Enjolras earlier.  
He didn’t get it, and certainly still didn’t understand Enjolras himself; even after what the leader had spilled to him in the kitchen. After a text to Eponine once he was home, Grantaire didn’t even bother to change, just collapsed onto his bed, thankful to finally be alone again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologise ridiculously for the amount of time it's been since we last updated this, uni work and everything else got in the way so finally we present the next installment. Hopefully we'll be updating more regularly again from now on :)

Light began to trickle through the gaps in the old rickety blinds, far too early for Grantaire’s liking and - when he rolled over to find that it was not yet 7am, and also that he had what could only be described as a fucker of a hangover – he briefly remembered having some whacked-out dream about the previous night’s New Year celebrations… and Enjolras specifically. This wasn’t unusual; after all it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d dreamt of the law student doing something out of character, but for some reason he couldn’t help but think he was missing something.

A light tingle was semi-obvious to Grantaire in his right hand, and he very nearly giggled to himself before he realised the movement hurt his head but failed to check his phone, sinking back into sleep with no plans of waking up again until the winter sun was lower in the sky. When he did stir, it was with a jolt of shock and realisation.

“Shit!” he cursed aloud to himself, “shit shit shit fuck!”

He sat bolt upright, tangled uncomfortably in the duvet, and, fucking hell, was that blood on his sheets?! Grantaire winced as his head thumped painfully, he didn’t even have any paracetamol in the flat, but where the fuck was he bleeding?! He went to rub his eyes when he noticed the deep gash in his right hand; that’s when the pain set in.

“Fuck me…”

What the hell had happened last night?! Were the fuzzy blonde god memories that his brain had managed to save even real? Grantaire flailed as he fought his way out of the blanket cocoon and went to grab his phone from the bedside table – only to find it missing. ‘Shit’ seemed to be a recurring phrase this morning. Within seconds he was down on his hands and knees amidst piles of clothes and books and art supplies, smearing fresh blood across the surfaces, until he realised that his phone was in fact still in his pocket; he'd slept in his clothes, of course he hardly expected anything less. Remembering why he hadn't taken them off though was out of the question. Hell, he hardly even remembered how he got home, or how he’d sliced his hand open!

Six messages and three missed calls... and it was 2PM. Not bad. Sure he’d had worse hangovers and woken up later and to more texts and calls – but what had happened last night had never happened before. He opened the most recent message to find it was not from Eponine as he'd expected, but instead from his sister.

He considered replying but didn't want to lie to Genevieve - he couldn't honestly say he was ok; but then he couldn't honestly say that he wasn't ok either. The events of the previous night, if they had even occurred in reality rather than just in his drunken dreams, were kind of what he'd wanted; his hands in golden curls, their lips just- but not to happen like how it had though. As for the other party, he had no idea whether or not Enjolras had wanted it at all.

Too scared to open the most likely panicked messages from Eponine, (a newly engaged Eponine, now that he remembered) Grantaire quickly skimmed - with his left hand, right one hanging in front of him, shaking slightly - through his short list of contacts, cursing himself for not coming up with an excuse to ask for Enjolras' number before now when he could really do with it. Stupid. A simple text and this could all be sorted, maybe... Grantaire highly doubted it in fact, there was no way Enjolras would even bother reading a text sent by him. He tossed the phone onto his bloody stained bed.

Pulling up the blinds to let in the sun, he examined the scarlet gash in the palm of his right hand. Fuck this stung like a bitch. Wincing, he padded into the bathroom to find anything worthy of being dubbed a bandage, and some antiseptic cream, if that was even possible in this flat.

A half hour later found the hung over art student running a hand through bedraggled curls as the other brushed his unshaven chin, and he began pacing around and around his small apartment trying desperately to fight down the dread rising in him. That and the previous night’s alcohol were slowly taking hold and Grantaire knew he should stay near the bathroom in case his stomach contents decided to make reappearance.

After several minutes of pacing he'd come up with three options: one, go to Enjolras' place and talk it out, though it was most likely he’d be met with a swift punch to the jaw or worse... and Grantaire wasn't entirely sure where he lived anyway. Two, leave the country and never return, or three, call Eponine and hope desperately that she believed him and would help him sort his now agonising hand. Grantaire hadn’t managed to find any antiseptic anything, and was now seriously concerned he’d need it amputated if a doctor didn’t get a look at it soon. Ever the cynic. At the moment, option number two seemed the most appealing but, with a moment's deliberation, he went with three. Eponine answered after one ring.

"What's wrong, you seemed upset when you left last night?" Straight to the point, and fair enough too.

"Nothing, everything's fine, I just felt shitty…" he trailed off towards the end of the sentence. "Still feeling shitty I guess?" She asked attentively.

"You know me so well!" His sarcasm could battle against the strongest hangover and still win.

"Hmm, I'm not sure I believe you..." She seemed to be thinking for a moment, "I'll get it out of you."

"You won't." He declared.

"So there is something wrong. I knew it!!" He would have laughed but, thanks to the circumstances, didn't feel like it.

"You left your cardi last night, want me to bring it?" He knew she was only fishing for a way to come round, but felt instantly comforted when he thought of getting this all off his chest. "Shouldn't you be celebrating?" Eponine engaged, now there was a thought!

"My gorgeous fiancé is currently not-so-gorgeously spewing up his guts in my toilet ..." Grantaire thought he could hear some rather unpleasant sounds in the background.

"So I'm all yours! I'll see you soon," before she hung up she reassured him, "whatever it is, R, it'll be alright!" She must have sensed how worried he was, as always.

Awaiting his best friend's imminent arrival, Grantaire set about making the strongest coffee he could and tracking down some painkillers; he could never fucking find anything in the place!

He had only just finished making their coffees when Eponine arrived to claim hers, storming into his crowded room, cardigan in hand and a fairly hungover look on her face. He couldn't blame her though, she'd had great reason to celebrate the night before he thought as he noticed how the silver ring glinted even in the dim light.

"Tell me what's wrong right now so I can go home and sleep you idiot!!" She'd clearly only just noticed quite how tired she was, but that didn't seem to put her off any as she still continued to interrogate him.

"Nothing's wrong, you must've misread signals or something!" He attempted to argue, doing his best to avoid a discussion, and still fighting against the feeling he was about to throw up any second.

"I know when you're upset, I think I know my best friend!" She'd retorted, pointing a finger inquisitively, "I know it's train god related whatever it is, he left about the same time as you... did you punch him?" The option was there; he could lie and say yes, end it all there. But this was Ep, and if he couldn't tell her who could he tell?! He hesitated though before starting, chewing the inside of his lip.

"He…” a glance down, “he kissed me."

There was silence throughout the flat. Eponine wore a strange expression.

"What? R, no way, no fucking way," Eponine was seriously trying not to laugh at how ridiculous Grantaire sounded, "you are joking, aren't you...?"

He wanted to lie once again and say yes, but found himself simply lost for words; as if anyone would believe that golden Enjolras would have had anything to do with someone like him. There was also the issue of sexuality to add to all this; did anyone even know for sure if the acclaimed leader was straight or gay? Or were any of them brave enough to ask?! Last night’s escapades spoke for themselves in Grantaire’s opinion though.

Eponine looked concerned as he didn’t answer for a few seconds, an appropriate response brewing in his mind.

“I sort of wish I was joking...” He said sort of because it had been a good night, and under different circumstances the kissing was exactly what he wanted.

“Holy shit! The tired girl had to physically sit down in order to stop herself falling over, landing heavily on one of the two tattered wine-stained chairs.

“This is Enjolras!” she exclaimed, arms flailing wildly and disturbing her still full coffee mug, “He doesn’t – he’s not like – R, what the hell?!” This time she did laugh out loud, her expression was that of glee and incredulous amazement.

“I think it came as more of a surprise to me than you thanks very much!” The friends exchanged a brief overexcited look; Eponine raising her eyebrows high and Grantaire copying the action as if to say “I know!!”. If the situation hadn’t been so complicated the two of them would be doing a victory dance around the kitchen right that second.

“Were you the reason he ran away just after midnight then?! Oh my god you were, weren’t you?!” she leapt forward and grabbed his wrist in both excitement and confusion.

“You saw him?!” He could tell he sounded desperate; and probed her for as much information as possible.

“Only briefly, ‘Ferre said he must’ve left because of his internship thing... but he looked sort of worried?” she ventured, urging the art student to react, “But that must’ve been because he was debating whether or not to go back and rip off your clothes!!” He narrowed his eyes at her as she giggled, coffee now staining the floor as well as blood and wine. Grantaire didn’t even his care, his hand was still stinging like nothing else.

“Or whether or not to go back and punch me!” he corrected, as this was more likely to be the thought in Enjolras’ mind at that time.

“Yeah but, R, he kissed you! He didn’t punch you in the face and run away, he kissed you in the face and ran away... this is good...” her unbearable smug smirk matched the excited glint in her eyes.

“If you don’t shut up I’ll punch you, in what way is this a good thing?!” Grantaire questioned as he downed his remaining coffee, wincing as the bitter taste reminded him of the alcohol from the night before.

“Because it means he’s interested, I mean he’s Enjolras so it’s unlikely for him to kiss someone without knowing it meant something – he’s the most virginal person I’ve ever met!” That hadn’t even crossed his mind; the golden-haired law student certainly seemed to know what he was doing last night, but how much of that had been thanks to the terrible influence of drink?!

“Is he...?”

“How should I know?! But even if he is what does it matter, I bet he’s great!” She winked and he punched her shoulder, forgetting about his hand. “Ah, fucking hell!”

He shook his hand and screwed up his face.

“Yeah I was gonna ask, what did you do to that? It looks- holy shit blood, dude that’s bad!”

Grantaire unwrapped the wound and Eponine actually gasped, “R, are you sure you didn’t punch him?!”

He laughed at this until she grabbed his hand and the pain shot up his arm, “Aaah, Ep for fuck’s sake!”

After she’d told him he definitely needed stitches and would drag him to the hospital herself, conversation got back to Enjolras.

“I know you were imagining smothering him in chocolate and licking him top to toe though!” She giggled, knowing him too well; their telepathic connection clearly hadn’t weakened any.

“That’s not what I want though... I mean I do want, I mean… I want more than that...” his speech was disjointed as he struggled to put how he felt into words, emotions weren’t half complicated. Maybe he should adopt Enjolras’ approach and become unfeeling towards everyone and everything; but now he knew from (close) personal experience that this was perhaps not necessarily the case.

“Oh dear god you are in love aren’t you? These are unchartered waters for us, ‘Taire!” she exclaimed as she sat her mug down and twisted the ring around her finger with a fond smile.

“Dibs on maid of honour, I will fight Prouvaire for this I’m not joking!”

The conversation quickly turned to engagement plans and then to wedding plans and then to wondering how on earth they’d managed to get so fucking old... and next to a Mario kart tournament that confirmed the pair remained children at heart. Grantaire could tell that his best friend was anxious to find out more about the events of New Years Eve, but for now seemed content just knowing that he was alright. Her phone buzzed loudly a few hours later – just after a particularly heated and surprisingly violent lap of Rainbow Road – and, naturally, it was Combeferre.

“Wondering where you’ve got to I suppose?” Grantaire asked, rubbing his arm to see if the marks from Eponine’s nails would last.

“He’s finally stopped throwing up, if that’s what you mean!”

“You can go if you want, Ep, you’ve done enough for me today... and you deserve to celebrate! I’m assuming there will be a party?” Grantaire could see Jehan’s extravagant plans already.

“Not now that I know what you might do in the kitchen with a certain someone!”

“Harsh.” He tilted his head to the side and pouted.

“Aww babe I’m sorry! He’ll be in touch, I bet – knocking on the door in the middle of the night to declare his love or something!” she knelt down to press a kiss to his cheek and pulled him into a hug.

“Call me if you need me and I’ll see you soon.” He hugged her back tightly before ushering her towards the door.

“Don’t keep your fiancée waiting, Mrs.” He smiled, leaning against the door, winking. “Love yoouu!” she called as she bounced down the stairs.

“Of course you do I’m fucking adorable!” Grantaire yelled in reply, his smile fading slightly as the apartment became far too quiet again.

He sprawled idly on the sofa for the following couple of hours; willing the last of his hangover to bugger off and once again trying to go through the events of the night before in his head. Although fuzzy around the edges, he thought he had the gist figured out at last: Enjolras had kissed him... but then hadn’t he kissed Enjolras after pushing him away?! Wait – why the fuck had he pushed him away?! Once again he scrolled through the contacts on his phone and cursed himself for not having acquired his number from somewhere – surely Eponine had it, and he could so easily have gone through her phone while she was in the bathroom! Just as that idea popped into his head, his phone vibrated rather violently in his hands; catching him off guard and causing him to almost drop it. The message was from Courfeyrac and it simply read: _  
_

He typed back quickly, adding consecutively:

And with that his phoned buzzed again, but this time the message wasn’t from Courfeyrac.

__  


Cosette and Marius.

And so, a few weeks later and after much debate between the two couples (and by that everyone knew they meant Eponine, Combeferre and Marius vs. Cosette and probably Jehan), Grantaire found himself reluctantly getting ready for a double engagement party. Cosette had won, obviously. They were well into January and, thanks to the success of his exhibition and the unexpectedly high grades he’d been awarded for his portraits, the art student was well on his way to leaving his first year with a smile on his face. He still had one final portraiture piece to complete before exams though, and he couldn’t help but think of the stand-alone piece still stashed away underneath his bed. In the past few weeks he’d repeatedly been on the verge of stamping on it and destroying it forever, but something in him just couldn’t go through with it. There had been no contact between himself and Enjolras. Nothing for almost a month now, and Grantaire would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t given up hope.

This didn't explain, then, why he still searched for a glimpse of Enjolras as he boarded the train heading to the Musain. Obviously he didn't find him - although even if he had he'd have had no clue what to say to him, no matter how many times he'd reviewed the situation in his mind or been kept up at night listing possible solutions - each more ridiculous and unfeasible than the last.

As the dimly lit train shook slightly, the two very different gift bags wobbled and almost fell from his lap. Although they looked different - one bright oranges and pinks because let's face it, Cosette's style preferences mattered more than Pontmercy's, and the other a much more reserved purplish bag that he was sure Eponine had used for his birthday last year - they both contained the same basic gift: a painting. As if it would be anything else, he did have a reputation to uphold after all. Marius and Cosette's was a smaller version of the one that had been featured in his exhibition which he knew they would love. Ep and Ferre's, however, had been a trickier task; partly because they only very rarely behaved like a couple in public - well not a Marius and Cosette type couple anyway - but after a few days of looking for the moment that would sum them up perfectly, he'd stumbled across them sitting in Eponine's stairwell; a book in his hands and her head in his lap, just smiling up at him as he read aloud about nothing in particular. He didn't ask why they weren't doing this inside rather than on the surely uncomfortable landing, only snapped a quick picture before either party noticed his presence and left them in peace. He was about ninety eight percent sure his best friend might kill him; but had decided that it would definitely be worth it to see the colour her fiancé’s face would inevitably turn. Cold fingers caught in his hair as he reached to tug the green beanie down against the cool not-quite-spring air and he cursed himself for not owning a brush. Hoping it wasn’t too fancy an occasion – as far as he knew parents hadn’t been invited and he hoped he was right for their sake, especially since he was granted a small insight to Courfeyrac’s plan for the evening – he grabbed the bags and plastered a half-fake smile across his face as he stepped onto the platform. Still he searched for a flash of red.

Apparently Enjolras had been fairly distant over the past few weeks too; barricading himself in his room or the library and leaving protest work to Combeferre or Courfeyrac, Eponine said. The amount of times Grantaire had imaged himself marching right up to Enjolras’ door and asking what the fuck was going on between them were uncountable... but he’d never quite convinced himself to actually do it.

It was at the station Grantaire stopped dead in his tracks momentarily, upsetting the course of several people behind him and shrugging off their disapproving glares – wouldn’t Enjolras be there tonight?! Shit. He spent enough time thinking about him and their intimacy at New Year so why the hell hadn’t he thought to at least ask someone?! Whipping out his phone he frantically texted Eponine (apparently she was supposed to be helping Cosette do her hair, god help her, but he tried nonetheless).

“Enjolras. Tonight. Yes or no?”

He had almost but not quite reached the Musain when the reply came.

“You mean for sex reasons?”

He didn’t reply; he wasn’t going to reply to that. Eponine clearly realised this as she amended her response:

“I kid... not as yet, but you never know babe! Xx”

Grantaire considered turning around and going home right then. Even though it had been almost a month, he didn’t feel ready to face the reality of the situation – let alone see that irritatingly attractive face again. Just as he had decided to show face for an hour or so then go home and become a blanket-caterpillar for the rest of his existence; Jehan called to him from the opposite side of the street. The dainty poet carried two reasonably large boxes with typical extravagant bows and grinned widely.

“Hey, R! Lovely night for a celebration of love, eh?” If his arms weren’t full Grantaire could almost guarantee he’d be flinging them around wildly to express his point. Jesus Christ was he serious; as much as he loved him, Jehan could be insufferably cutesy at times. God only knows what he’d be like when the actual weddings rolled around – whenever that may be – but the art student could only imagine something resembling an over-excited child on a sugar rush on Christmas Eve.

“Yeah I suppose it is.” Grantaire finally replied after a lot of deliberation and a few seconds of biting his sharp tongue. Jehan wasn’t wrong, he decided as he pulled open the heavy Musain door to let his friend inside and paused to look back at the darkening night. It was chilly; but not icy like New Year or the blue eyes he hadn’t seen in what seemed such a long time.

“You gonna wax poetic about the sky or are you coming in, dear?” Jehan asked softly from just inside; marvelling at the decorations (most of them handmade at the very last minute by himself and a worn-out looking Combeferre who “didn’t even want the stupid party” in the first place). It didn’t seem as if everyone had arrived yet but already the drinks were flowing; Musichetta behind the bar with a rather clueless looking Joly helping her and Bossuet a safe enough distance away to ensure minimum glass breakage. The chairs seemed to be set out in the exact same way they were at New Year; aimed towards the barricade, and he winced as he remembered why.

“You heard Courf’s plan?” he asked with a smile, it’d be a good distraction if nothing else.

“Heard it?! I half created it!!” He sounded offended, and if the loud creaking of the door hadn’t been enough to signify the others of their arrival they would certainly know now. Of course Jehan had something to do with it; this had the two of them written all over it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” he added quickly, tone much softer now as he put a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and gestured to ‘Chetta that they’d be over in a minute, “you’ve been awful distant this past while, ‘Taire, everything ok?” his eyes were wide with worry and the art student felt his fear melt in their gaze.

“I’m sorry little poet, I’m fine I promise...” he didn’t mean to make the last bit sound so unconvincing, but no doubt Jehan would’ve been able to tell there was something not quite right even if he’d been bouncing off the walls with a massive smile.

“I’m not gonna pressure you but I think I know what it might be related to and if so he is a great big bag of dicks, for now though just c’mere – I’ve missed you!” He pulled his friend into a brief hug and squeezed hard for a moment, and Grantaire hugged back; suddenly wondering why on earth he hadn’t just told Jehan in the first place.

“A great big bag of dicks, eh?” he mused, liking the sound of the very apt phrase.

“Sorry I’ve been watching a lot of Supernatural lately... aren’t those Winchesters something?” Grantaire chuckled as he made a mental note to look out for any references to Impalas or plaid in any current poems, nodding in agreement as his friend wasn’t wrong.

"Just keeping him all to yourself are you, Prouvaire?" Bossuet called over from his seat by the bar. "Hey man long time no see, Joly thought you had the plague or something!" He reached out to shake his hand warmly. With this Joly blushed and Musichetta ruffled his hair.

"Well at least he's back now," the rather stressed out looking barmaid exclaimed before adding, "Which means he can help sort out this god awful party - food's in the kitchen!" He nodded obediently and was about to leave when Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Feuilly arrived.

"Speaking of god awful, look who it is!" Bossuet called with a smirk, almost falling off his stool as he did so.

"Ooh harsh Boss, I'm cut to the bone." Bahorel held a mysterious looking black bag, and Grantaire realised he must also be part of Courfeyrac's plan. Of course - it would only work properly if there were three of them…

"Where are zee happy couples zen?" Feuilly asked on behalf of everyone as they all seemed to be wondering where they'd got to.

"No clue, Cosette said they'd be here at eight..." Grantaire glanced at his watch: already 8:45. "Probably can't keep their hands off each other." Courfeyrac mused, nipping behind the bar to start pulling pints much to the dismay of Musichetta.

"Well it's their party they have to show up at some point! And never mind them - where's that sister of yours, R?" Bahorel wiggled his eyebrows and the art student had to do his best not to punch him. "She's gone home, sorry to disappoint." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Aww shame, she'll be back though right?" He still looked dangerously optimistic; Grantaire'd always assumed that introducing Gen to Courfeyrac would've been the biggest mistake of his life, but he'd never even considered the effect of Bahorel.

"If she is I'm keeping her in my apartment or as far away from you as possible!" His tone was playful but his eyes were not. "Hmm we shall see, you have drainpipes though... I'm sure I could climb them!" Grantaire narrowed his eyes but couldn't help but admire the determination.

"And what about Enjolras?" Joly wondered out loud. Even the name made Grantaire flinch; it felt sharp and unforgiving and he could only hope that no one noticed the effect it had on him. "God knows, he's become a recluse ever since that internship thing!" Courf shrugged, taking the first sip of his first of many drinks. Yeah, that's the only reason, Grantaire thought as his heart raced; amazed that even the thought of Enjolras being here was able to make him feel like this.

"Ferre's his bffl though you'd think he'd show face?" Bossuet added, looking pleased that no one had called him up on his use of the abbreviation - twitter wasn't good for him. The flustered artist was only able to relax when the conversation was thankfully ended.

"I suppose we'll find out. Anyway, we should probably get this stuff, ahem, ready guys..." Courfeyrac said, gesturing to the black bag and putting an arm round a shoulder of each of his accomplices. They wandered off in the direction of the barricade and Grantaire quickly excused himself so that no questions were fired at him. Leaving a terribly confused Feuilly with an inquisitive Musichetta, he went to fetch the food from the kitchen. Fuck. The kitchen. He hadn't even thought. 


	9. Chapter 9

Grantaire stepped into the kitchen gingerly, he noticed there was a sign stuck on the inside of the door. It stated “Dear whoever broke the glass, fuck you very much” and he instantly felt the need to apologise; obviously his drunken cleaning up skills at New Year were somewhat lacking. Apart from that, though, everything seemed entirely normal. He rolled his eyes – of course it looked normal, what had he expected?

As he collected the trays of food made in what must have been a hurry by ‘Chetta, Joly and Bossuet – you could tell exactly which things the boys had prepared; Joly’s exact and almost clinical while Boss’ were shabbily thrown together – he couldn’t help but imagine how Enjolras had looked pinned against that fridge, or the worktops. How they’d sent pots and pans clattering to the floor but only gripped each other tighter. He caught sight of himself in the window as he went to leave and, realising he looked far too debauched for a man who was only supposed to be bringing the food through, forced himself to stand for a moment until he pulled himself together. This was ridiculous, but he knew full well that if Enjolras were here with him now he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from repeating their previous actions.

“Deep breaths,” he muttered, “not the time to be thinking of that.”

When he decided that he looked considerably less flushed and flustered, he pulled a pencil from his pocket and scribbled sorry on the note about the glass before making his way back out into the bar. Eponine and Combeferre had arrived, bringing with them a massive cake and wearing matching loved-up grins. “Ep, you’re not supposed to make the cake for your own engagement party!” Grantaire moaned as he made his way over to greet them, leaving the remainder of the food on the nearest table. Eponine had a passion – some may have said obsession – for baking and, although everything she made looked amazing, the number of times they’d all missed uni thanks to cases of food poisoning were reaching a worrying figure.

“Don’t worry; I supervised this one so no one’s life is at risk.” Combeferre assured them, only half joking as he put an arm around his fiancée. Grantaire felt his phone buzz in his pocket and lifted it out to find a message from his sister.

“Gen says congrats guys; she wishes she could be here!”

“I’m kinda glad she isn’t - it took me weeks to clear up all those feathers!” Musichetta admitted as she pulled a box out from behind the bar, full to the brim with multicoloured fluff.

“Well I for one am gutted...” Bahorel winked at Grantaire who quickly launched a balled up napkin at his head. “Tell her thank you from the two of us.” Eponine insisted, smiling as she moved to hug him and whisper, “I still don’t know if he’s coming... He did say maybe though so he does remember how to interact with people!”

“I don’t think he’s ever known how to interact with people, Ep.” The art student murmured in reply, almost smiling but not feeling it reach his eyes. Before anyone who might have heard could ask who they were gossiping about, Marius and Cosette made their entrance. Eponine had done a wonderful job with Cosette’s blonde locks, which were twisted into a simple yet lovely up-do, with a few curls framing her face which bounced as she hurried to greet them all. Marius looked, as always, much more reserved but it couldn’t be denied that he was extremely proud of his wife-to-be.

“Right we’re all here now – drinks!!” Bossuet decided, making his way to the bar. _Not all of us_ , Grantaire couldn’t help but think... but their absent leader was not mentioned.

As the drinks and conversation began to flow, Grantaire managed to relax considerably; all but forgetting what had happened the last time he’d gotten this inebriated. Naturally, the topic turned quickly to wedding plans and it was discovered that Marius and Cosette planned to tie the knot a lot quicker than Ep and ‘Ferre. This was only to be expected, of course. The table full of presents also caught their eye in due course, but before they could open any Courfeyrac intervened. “Just before the bar is set, guys, I just wanted to say that I didn’t buy presents...”

“That’s ok, Courf, we weren’t expect-” Marius began to say, but was cut off mid-sentence.

“If you’d let me finish, Pontmercy! What I meant to say was I didn’t buy presents, but I have prepared a little something which will blow all these other gifts out of the water – no offence guys!” he winked at the rather confused looking group and Grantaire almost broke down laughing right then. “R, what the hell?!” Eponine grabbed his wrist almost threateningly, looking for an explanation. “Just wait and see!” he insisted, giggling to himself.

“So Bahorel, Jehan, if you’d both be so kind as to assist me!” The joyous man downed his drink and scurried towards the stairs leading up to the cafe, the other two following close behind. “Should we be scared?” Marius asked warily, but Cosette shushed him as she clapped her hands with glee. “I don’t care this is exciting!!”

The lights were dimmed as Jehan yelled, “FOR ATMOSPHERE!!” from an unknown location Grantaire could only assume was the broom cupboard just in case anyone was unsure, and the artist pressed his rough knuckles into his face; willing himself not to laugh – not yet. He lost his composure completely when the music started and the three guys – he had to quickly remind himself that Courf’ and Bahorel were in fact straight, although the former would jump at the chance to sleep with anyone – emerged from the little side door to the right of The Barricade in the most unappealing costumes he’d ever had the misfortune of seeing.

The Beyonce inspired black leotards revealed far more of the men than anyone present wanted to see – and were they actually wearing heels?! Eponine choked on her drink when Courfeyrac, standing in the middle of the trio, mouthed along with the music. “All the single ladies, all the single ladies…”

“This is not happening, this is not happening!” Marius kept repeating to himself as they continued with near perfect precision until Combeferre patted his shoulder lightly, “I’ll pour bleach in your eyes if you return the favour?”

“Too. Late. Image. Embedded in brain.” Bossuet managed to blurt out between guffaws of laughter, clearly referring to the leg hair situation – Bahorel actually almost looked as if he might be wearing trousers! Grantaire laughed consistently throughout the shambles of a performance but most of all when Courfeyrac bent his knees and pulled his legs dangerously wide apart, copying the video exactly. The lyrics were somewhat changed as he slipped in his heels, though.

“Decided to dip, and now you wan- oh fuck fucking help me!!” The l’amis erupted with a new bout of laughter and, looking round, the art student noticed that Musichetta had secretly snuck her phone out and seemed to be either filming or photographing the whole ordeal. She winked at him as tears rolled down her cheeks. Feuilly just looked terribly muddled as ever and Grantaire made a mental note to give him a crash course in Beyonce as soon as he possibly could. As the apt song reached the chorus and Jehan began to lead them around the group in a circle, carrying on the signature prancing step as they went.

“Ugh, saw it, definitely saw it that time!” Cosette squeaked as she quickly averted her eyes from the crotch in her face, Marius resulting to physically covering them for her until Eponine smacked Jehan’s thigh with a chuckle and he finally moved on. “Chetta I swear to fuck if you’re filming this...” Bahorel warned as the three of them joined into a line once more, ready for what seemed to be the most practiced part of the dance. “Of coourse she’s not!” Bossuet insisted, taking the opportunity to swig his beer while the hilarity remained at a minimum before he whispered something inaudible to Joly who looked like he might throw up. It was remarked later on – as they watched the footage on the Musain’s singular functional TV - that, had they been wearing make-up which thankfully they’d not thought of, they would’ve looked like something out of Rocky Horror (to which Jehan yelled “HALLOWEEN!!!” even if it was only January).

“How long have they been practicing this for?!” Eponine leant over to ask, eyebrows raised and hand stroking a still rather alarmed Ferre’s knee under the table. “A good couple of weeks now,” Grantaire answered as the song drew to a close, “pretty much ever since the party was decided, oh and since Courf proposed to me.”

“He what?!”

Grantaire suddenly realised how that might have sounded rather different to what he’d intended. “Oh no wait he was joking, don’t worry I’m not eloping with him or anything...” he lowered his voice before continuing, “still very much fixated on someone else for the time being.”

“Imagine someone marrying that, anyway!” she observed, nodding over at Courfeyrac as he all but dry-humped The Barricade, aware of his desire to change the subject. “Joly you are going to hev to disneyfect that!” Feuilly decided, everyone breathing a sigh of relief to find that the memorable routine hadn’t shocked the poor man into eternal silence. ‘Disneyfect’ was Grantaire’s new favourite Feuilly-word, he decided. Joly himself still looked undeniably queasy, face pale if slightly green and eyes wide with horror. “I’m pretty sure those leotards are medically unsound.” He muttered to himself as the group attempted to stop laughing long enough to clap. This statement was furthered by a voice Grantaire hadn’t heard in almost a month; but this somehow only made it all the more pleasant despite the circumstances, his ears pricked up at its sound as everyone turned their heads to find the source: “And I’m definitely sure they’re legally unsound too.”

Enjolras. No smile on his face or sparkle in his eye, just a tone of apology in his velvet voice. The apology, however, did not seem to be for him. Everyone stayed silent for a few seconds until Combeferre rose from his seat and made for the door in order to hug his best friend. Grantaire had forgotten that he wasn’t the only one who the leader had been avoiding, and he felt guilty for it. It was odd seeing Enjolras hug someone – even if that someone was ‘Ferre – simply because it never happened. He knew how wonderful those arms felt, of course, but not in a tender, honest embrace such as this. The two exchanged a few brief and seemingly stern words at the door before returning to the crowded table; Combeferre’s arm hanging almost awkwardly around Enjolras’ broad shoulders. The blonde man’s initial smile began to waver as he drew closer, and he nodded hello to each of the friends – not to Grantaire though, he’d thought as much.

“Waaait, I swear you look just like this guy we used to know!” Bossuet joked as he clapped the leader’s back with a grin, adding, “Enjol-something, wasn’t it Courf?”

“Nah I’m pretty sure he was an arse – glad we got rid of him to be honest!” Courfeyrac continued, winking slyly. “Yeah haha guys, be sure to get it all out now.” For once the law student seemed more than willing to accept any criticism given to him, and Grantaire considered joining in until fear of being struck down got the better of him as it never had in the past. The artist searched and searched for a sign of, well, anything at all on his face, but Enjolras seemed to have quite forgotten he existed; behaving more coldly than he had even when they first became acquainted.

He had to drag his eyes away from that perfect face (it had been a month and it was still exquisite – who could’ve blamed him?!) as he felt Eponine squeeze his knee gently under the table. “You ok, babe?” Enjolras had been led away by Courfeyrac and Combeferre – clearly eager to have his much needed visionary influence back in the planning of the next protest, whenever it may be. With them safely out of the way, the others seized their chance to begin speculating where their leader had been all this time.

“Yeah I’ll be alright...” he told her, not that he was alright at this particular moment – but he would be if he could just get his fucking heart to stop racing. She rested her head on his shoulder as they both listened to the excited gossiping. “So it’s just because of zat internership yes?” Feuilly asked, oblivious to the other factors which may have led to Enjolras’ period of adjustment. “Maybe it’s because of the engagements? I’d feel so awful!” Cosette cried, turning to Marius with a terribly upset look; she hated more than anything to be the cause of another person’s pain.

“There’s nothing to annoy him about the engagements, love, they’re happy things!” Marius kissed her forehead gently and she eventually nodded in agreement. “Well I for one think it’s a girl!” Musichetta said quite out of the blue, taking everyone aback. “What d’you mean?! When have you – in fact when has anyone – ever seen Enjolras with a girl?!” Bahorel retorted, most of them mumbling and shrugging in agreement with his statement. “I’m pretty sure I saw him speak to one once last year...” Bossuet began, getting a few laughs with this.

“Well it took Ep at least two months to get him to talk to her properly after they first met,” Jehan, who’d been so quiet for a while that Grantaire had almost forgotten he was still present, stated, “so I don’t think it’s a girl.” He looked at him then, right in the eye and raised an eyebrow curiously. The art student remained silent, half debating whether or not to just stand up on the bar right there and then and inform the entirety of the friend group exactly what had gone on in the kitchen that night.

“Maybe he’s ill!” Joly exclaimed, covering his mouth with a tissue instinctively. “Maybe who’s ill?” Courfeyrac – thankfully having changed out of the verging on illegal leotard - asked as the three men returned, his booming voice made Grantaire jump slightly. He just kept thinking of New Year and whether or not it had all been nothing but an ethereal dream.

As Marius, Cosette, Eponine and Combeferre began opening those presents that didn’t involve musical numbers; all he could think of was Enjolras’ fingers twisting in his hair. As they thanked him infinitely for the paintings, he thought of the closeness of their hips and the sensation of being pushed up against the welcomingly cool fridge. He continued to glance over at the golden haired man every so often, only allowing himself about half a millisecond at a time to save suspicion, but not once was he looking back. Cake was eaten and champagne poured generously, but for once in his life Grantaire didn’t drink much. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like it – dear god he wanted nothing more than to crawl home on all fours and drown his sorrows for the rest of forever – but he felt as if he were being watched, even if the watcher never once looked him directly in the eye.

Finally the conversation turned to Enjolras’ absence, Musichetta asking boldly, “So stranger, where’ve you been all this time?” Everyone turned round in earnest, eager to hear the answer. “Well, that’s kinda complicated...” he started, and Grantaire could swear his gaze was met coldly and momentarily, “I’ve had a lot to, um, consider.”

“I’ll bet.” The art student muttered under his breath, but the comment either went unheard or Enjolras was just unwilling to respond as he usually might. “About your career, yeah E?” Combeferre continued for him, urging him as ever to be more responsive.

“Yeah something like that. But tonight isn’t about me – it’s about you guys!” He insisted, seeming even more eager to change the topic of conversation than Grantaire had been earlier. “How’s it feel being engaged to such a stud, Cosette?” Courfeyrac interrogated with a grin. “Which stud are you talking about, I can’t see him!” She replied, craning her neck to see past Marius’ hair. He knocked her shoulder playfully and she pinched his cheek. “I’m kidding, baby!”

“And you Ep – how does it feel knowing you’re marrying a future librarian?” Bossuet took his chance, holding an invisible microphone to the unsuspecting woman’s lips. Combeferre opened his mouth to argue with the comment but instead just shrugged and laughed. Eponine put her arms around him and filled in for him. “It feels fan-fucking-tastic thanks very much!!” she called excitedly, getting up to put on some music. “Now who’s gonna dance with me?!” Grantaire rolled his eyes at her before, inevitably, rising from his seat to join her in some sort of muddled tango.

He didn’t see Enjolras leave the table, and as far as he heard neither did anyone else. It wasn’t until some of the l’amis began to say their goodbyes, the two couples leaving happily laden with gifts and Eponine giving him a reassuring hug, eventually leaving only Musichetta, her boys and Grantaire (unknowingly having agreed to help clear up) remaining that his absence became apparent.

“You didn’t see when Enjolras left, did you Chetta?” he asked warily. “Ehh, he just left at the same time as the others didn’t he?” she said absent-mindedly, focusing on wiping down the bar. As if Grantaire could have gotten a conversation out of him if he’d stayed.

“Go and put this in the kitchen for me, love?” she handed him a champagne bucket (actually just a plastic bucket with some half-melted ice inside). He obliged with a sigh, but stopping dead in his tracks when he entered the kitchen to find it already occupied. Enjolras was stood with his back to him, hands braced against the worktop as his arms strained under his weight; clearly lost in thought as he jumped when Grantaire announced himself.

“Oh,” he began awkwardly, “sorry...” The blonde turned around to face him, expression stony and oh-so-sober – the exact opposite to the last time they’d been alone together. There was no answer, and no sign that he intended to give one either. “I- I’ll go…” but Grantaire faded off; why should he have to leave? He’d wanted to get him alone and now here was his opportunity handed to him on a silver platter.

“I thought you’d gone home.” He continued, sitting the champagne bucket down, and searching for any emotion on the blank canvas of Enjolras’ face.

“Well I guess you were wrong then, now if you’d excuse me...” the sullen leader made for the door. Almost instinctively Grantaire reached out to stop him, putting a restraining hand on his arm. Enjolras flinched away from the touch as if it burned.

“Don’t! Just don’t.” The way he said this made Grantaire want to throw up, curl up into nothingness. He spat his own reply back just as harshly, “I get that you don’t want to talk to me, ok, but what are we gonna do about this?!” he strained his voice to keep from shouting as he gestured to the space between the two of them.

“About what?! There’s nothing to do as far as I’m concerned, we’re done here!” Enjolras was up in his face now, but looking right through him to the door, as if he didn’t see Grantaire at all – as if he was nothing to him. Maybe he was. No, he definitely was. Their faces were mere inches apart, and the art student could so easily have closed the distance...

“Well fuck you then...” surprisingly his voice didn’t break as he continued, glaring up into those eyes which held galaxies, “…Apollo.” He hated himself as soon as the name left his mouth, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Enjolras had punched him right there and then. Instead, he simply leant in close and all but whispered his reply. “Fuck you right back.”

He pushed past him much harder than necessary and let the door slam behind him. “Shit.” Grantaire muttered to himself, sighing heavily as he leant an arm on the worktop. He decided then that he would, from this moment on, end his stupid fixation with unattainable, unfeeling, beautiful, blonde law students he met on the train. This was also the moment when he realised just how good he’d gotten at lying to himself.

A week to the day since the awkward encounter with he-who-must-not-be-named (the Harry potter reference was slightly harsh perhaps, but nevertheless it made him smirk), Grantaire woke earlier than he had in an age and set about tidying his pigsty of an apartment - possibly for the first time since he'd moved in nearly two years ago. He even whistled in a rather Snow White-like fashion as he did so, despite his mood. After he'd hoovered and dusted every surface he could find (besides his art desk because, let's face it, that was far too ambitious), cleaned out the already half empty fridge and done a week’s worth of dishes, all that was left was his bed. He'd considered clearing out the space under his bed until he'd remembered what was there. The art student didn't know what on earth had possessed him to do this; but one thing he did know was that if he was here cleaning, he couldn't be anywhere else doing anything abominably stupid that might make things another thousand times worse.

As he stripped the cover from his duvet, he noticed several new messages flashing up on his phone by his bedside. Deciding to ignore them, he set about remaking the larger than necessary double bed. Grantaire had always had a sort of love/hate relationship with bedclothes, as odd as that may have sounded to anyone who didn't know him well, in that he loved nothing more than sleeping in fresh sheets - but it took him the longest time to actually make a bed properly. The pillows were no problem and surprisingly he even managed to get the mattress cover on without too much of a struggle. When it came to the duvet, however, matters were entirely different. Trying his best not to get frustrated, the previously motivated man stuffed the corners messily into the covers for the third time. He felt hot tears prick the corners of his eyes as the agitation grew. 

"I'm not gonna cry over a fucking duvet." He muttered quietly to himself, taking a deep breath.

 If he couldn't even function living on his own how the fuck could he ever be good enough for someone like Enjolras?! Shit, he'd thought about him. He'd been trying especially hard today to keep the blonde student out of his head completely, which may have explained all the desire to clean, but now all his efforts were in vain. He shook the duvet violently and somehow ended up with it over his head, white linen engulfing his vision momentarily. Much to the now weary student's surprise, it was oddly peaceful once he figured out how to breathe properly without suffocating on the fabric. Taking refuge inside a duvet cover, he mused as he positioned himself on his bed so that he was staring up at the pure whiteness - he could still see the features of his room through it as if a thin veil had been cast over the world, softening everything just that little bit and making him feel secure inside it's bubble of protection - definitely going mad.

As he lay cocooned inside the soft bubble, he imagined how everything might be different when he emerged; like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. But who was he kidding - he wasn't even good enough to be considered a caterpillar, let alone a fucking butterfly. He couldn't pinpoint the exact time he'd started crying, but the art student didn't seem to be able to stop the tears steadily rolling from his cheeks and uncomfortably pooling at the back of his neck. He did know why he was crying, though.

What seemed like a considerable amount of time later, there was a knock at the door. He ignored it. Probably just the postman or door to door sales or something. After a few minutes he started slightly as a key was turned in the lock, but relaxed as he realised who it must be. The only other person who had a key to his apartment.

"R?" Eponine called as she closed the door behind her. "You home? I brought coffee and- Why the fuck is it so tidy in here?!" He almost laughed but managed to stop himself.

"Not home," he replied, his voice muffled by the duvet cover, "go 'way."

"Where the hell are you?!" She persisted, her voice growing closer.

"In a linen case of emotion." He hoped she'd appreciate the Anchorman reference.

"Oh you're so hilarious," she giggled as she entered his room, "'Taire, what the actual fuck are you doing?!" His best friend exclaimed, clearly noticing the outline he made within the sheet.

"I told you, linen case of emotion." He sniffed loudly, accidentally giving away that he'd been (and still was kind of) crying.

"Right you, budge up." He heard her coat and shoes drop to the floor before dark hair appeared at the entrance to his sanctuary.

"What're you doing?”

“I'm wallowing - leave me to wallow you bitch!" He retorted while still absentmindedly moving over to make room for her, covering his face with his hands.

"No one should have to wallow alone." She insisted, sitting opposite him for a moment until he opened his arms.

"D’you think everyone does this?" Grantaire asked as her fingers stroked gently through his hair.

"Oh yeah definitely, babe, of course," she chuckled, kissing the top of his head softly. He laughed too as he thought of the rest of the l'amis curled up together inside duvet covers. The tears were all but gone now, but he couldn't stop himself from blurting out:

"He doesn't want me, does he?" Before hiding his face in Eponine's shoulder. The girl tightened her arms around him before replying, "I don't know what the fuck that guy wants - but if it's not you then he's an idiot and it's his loss!" She insisted.

"Thanks Ep." Grantaire whispered softly, letting his eyes close.

"Hey, look at me for a second." She put a finger under his chin and tilted his head up until their eyes met. 

"We're gonna get through this, yeah? Just like we get through everything." He gaze was wide and honest and her words were all the art student needed to feel comforted.

"Yeah." He nodded, trying to force a smile. And he hoped to god that they would.

"Wanna do something today?" He said after a while, his voice muffled by Eponine's tangled hair, jos head on her shoulder again.

"You've changed your tune, what happened to ‘never moving again’ etc, etc?" She sounded half-asleep, looked it too. "Also R have you looked outside? It's pouring!" 

"So. I like the rain, it's calming..." _Did I really just say that?_ He thought to himself, worrying about becoming more pathetic than sympathetic.

"Pluviophile." The girl muttered under her breath.

"You what?" He asked, confused as to what the hell she was on about - maybe the heat from the surprisingly heavy duvet was making her dizzy.

"You. You're a pluviophile - means you take comfort in rainy days." She sounded pleased with herself.

"Seriously, is Combeferre's idea of romance a nice night in reading the fucking dictionary?! I can't let you marry him!" The art student huffed, shoving her shoulder so that she was almost sent tumbling to the floor off the side of the bed.

"You just don't like the thought of me being smarter than you!!" She teased, untangling their legs and wriggling to the bottom of the duvet. As she made her way back into the perhaps not so scary outside world Grantaire remarked, "And so she became a butterfly!"

"Fucking right I did!" He saw her flapping her arms through the fabric. His friend giggled for a moment before reaching inside the sheet and yanking on his ankle, "Let's go, caterpillar, things to do and people to see... and people to avoid at all costs also."

Grantaire groaned but eventually gave in and let himself be pulled from the artificial sanctuary. He imagined being able to do something like this with Enjolras one day; nothing sexual or even necessarily romantic, just having the opportunity to really know him - for them to openly spill their souls to each other without thinking of the consequences.

 

"Whatcha thinking about?" Eponine asked as she re-entered the room, two steaming mugs in hand. He hadn't even noticed her leave.

"You tell me." He replied, always eager to test how well she really did know him.

"Hmm, it's not sex because your cheeks aren't pink enough. You're not angry because your eyes aren't narrowed." She deduced immediately, sitting the hot chocolates down and studying his face. 

"It's not something I'm used to seeing but it's nice... it's love - infatuation almost judging by the way you jumped when I came in." It wasn't a question, she just knew.

"Dammit, Ep, how d’you do that?!" Grantaire demanded, his cheeks flushing.

"I'll never tell. Now drink that and we'll go."

"Where are we going?" He obediently sipped his drink, noticing the vanilla flavour; it burnt his tongue but it was too good for him to care. “Where d’you get the vanilla from? It tastes like the Musain stuff, did ‘Chetta give you it?”

Eponine pulled a face. “Not exactly, I may have nicked a bottle… while no one was watching… But it’s good so pffft who cares?!” Grantaire laughed out loud at this, shaking his head but not in disbelief; he wouldn’t put anything past the girl.

"There’s the smile I love to see,” she grinned down at him. “But, anyways, you wanted to go somewhere so we're gonna go somewhere. And by that I mean we're getting on the subway and getting off whenever we feel like it - we take this city for granted waaay too much!"

She was right, he concluded as they walked arm in arm through the blustery but beautiful city, sketch book tucked under the other arm.

"Aww, this is where ‘Ferre first told me he loved me!" She exclaimed as they passed an unusual looking building.

"Tell me that's not - oh wait of course it is," the art student observed, "it's the fucking national library, sure he wasn't talking to the books?" He teased.

"Stop with the loved up stuff or I'll phone Prouvaire and let him explain why ‘Paris is most beautiful in the rain!’" He let the threatening tone linger in his voice.

“That boy has seen Midnight in Paris one too many times,” a familiar voice sounded from behind the pair, and Eponine beamed automatically, “still waits at that corner some nights just in case he stumbles upon F. Scott Fitzgerald or something!” Combeferre continued.

“Might’ve known you’d have been in the library!” The art student remarked with a smirk.

“The library is a hospital for the mind, might even be able to help yours R!” His friend quoted cheerily as he approached them.

 “Hmm, I’m not Joly – can’t win me over with a hospital I’m afraid.” Grantaire shivered slightly as a rather heavy flurry of rain sent droplets flying into his reddened face.

“And tell me ‘Ferre, when are you planning on relocating here permanently?” He rolled his eyes as the couple embraced quickly, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when he became so cynical.

“Hmm sometime after the wedding probably,” he said casually, looping an arm around his fiancée’s waist, “as soon as I can convince her to ditch her no-good artist best friend!”

“Ooh that hurt, man.” He feigned being stabbed in the heart and staggered back slightly, almost sliding on a slippery tile.

“You’re rubbing off on me.” Combeferre replied, opening up the giant umbrella he’d discarded at his feet in order to save the three of them from the rain which was getting heavier by the second.

“Eww no don’t say that!” Eponine winced, he shared her disgust and shuddered as he imagined them married.

“Yeah definitely don’t say that!”

“He must be though – I found myself making a sarcastic comment about something protest related the other day and I honestly thought E was gonna skin me alive, you should’ve seen his eyes!” Grantaire’s skin prickled; he’d probably seen a look like that – if not worse – before he thought, remembering the sheer rage in Enjolras’ gaze as he’d stormed from the kitchen.

 

Soon enough he found himself reluctantly back at the ABC – the C to be precise – nursing something that definitely could not be just coffee with his face set firmly in a pout. Eponine and Combeferre had since gone home to do fiancée things, leaving him in the safe(ish) hands of Musichetta. She, along with a tired Bahorel and a pile of scarves and blankets he could only assume was Joly - he felt a cold coming on apparently - was doing her best to cheer him up. Thanks to the dreary weather, though, she had no shortage of customers escaping the rain so could only spare a few reassuring smiles or a shoulder squeeze as she passed by.

As the afternoon progressed and the weather began to worsen, Bossuet popped his head up the stairs with a quizzical expression on his face.

"What are these?" he asked, holding up two bottles of wine that Grantaire recognised instantly, both with numbers clearly marked on their labels. The remaining patrons didn't look up as Bossuet walked towards them, still holding the bottles at head height. Musichetta shot him a look that could only be interpreted as "This one's all yours".

"Oh, it's just my advent calendar..." he said as nonchalantly as possible. He'd had the tradition in various places over the past few years, but the ABC was of course the most recent.

"Have you been behind the bar all day?" Joly mumbled through at least three layers of wool as Bossuet kissed his head in passing.

"And by that he means have you been asleep behind the bar all day?" Musichetta interjected. This wouldn't have been a bad thing, as if Boss was asleep at least they knew he couldn't be breaking anything at that particular moment!

"Hold on a minute are we all just gonna gloss over this - it's your what, R?!" Bahorel asked in amused disbelief.

"I told you, it's the remains of my advent calendar - I thought you of all people would've noticed!" Grantaire replied, he knew who definitely wouldn't have noticed. Not that that was important in any way, of course.

"But it's-"

Musichetta cut him off, "Just wine, we know! And only half finished this year - getting old R!" She joked, although the laughter didn't quite reach her eyes. He'd started this tradition a couple of years back - using wine bottles with numbers on instead of a chocolate calendar to celebrate advent - and had made sure that it followed him to university. It was always ambitious and he was yet to finish all twenty five, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Do you want me to die then 'Chetta?!" He joked as he glanced back down to his latest unfinished sketch that was definitely not turning into yet another blonde, angelic-like creation.

"Of course she doesn't, no one does. I for one think it's ridiculous." A defiant voice declared from the corner, the hairs on the back of Grantaire's neck standing to attention as it did so. Before anyone could say anything in response, Enjolras was down the stairs and out of the door.

"When did he get here?!"

"Did anyone see him come in?!" Joly and Bahorel asked in unison. Grantaire stared at his hands, still covered in last night's paint, as he willed his heart to slow. Had he been there this whole time?! Surely he'd have noticed.

"Well at least he's out and about - that's almost the first I've seen him since the party!" Musichetta decided eventually. The art student could say nothing in return, only internally thank his oddly lucky stars that he hadn't been there with Eponine - fuck knows what he might have come out with. Though, seeing Enjolras again, gave him an idea.

Throwing his sketch book down on his seat, he hurried to the stairs, following the leader in red out of the Musain.

 


	10. Chapter 10

If Grantaire had thought it through any further he never would’ve gone. Something had to be done. Now. “Fuck it!” he all but screamed inside his head, careful not to trip on the uneven third stair that had caught him out so many times while drunk, he nearly broke into a jog as he neared the Musain door, and threw himself hastily out into the street. His stomach had started to churn uncomfortably as he considered the (most likely one-sided) conversation he was about to have, totally forgetting the others still inside the café and probably confused and wondering why the hell he’d run out after Enjolras.  
He glanced around the street, worrying he’d missed Enjolras altogether, until he spotted a golden head – looking for blondes was his speciality after all - weaving increasingly quickly through the few people sauntering along in the rain, hoods up and heads down. The determined artist didn’t even notice it was still raining – not until he found himself running across the banking to catch up with Enjolras and right into a gigantic puddle. As if things couldn’t get any worse he soon realised – much to his horror - it was also a muddy puddle and, pulling his foot out swiftly, winced as felt a cold breeze on his toes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”  
Looking ahead again, he thought the trademark red coat had disappeared but, on closer inspection, noticed that Enjolras had simply paused for a moment; leaning against a lamppost and resting his head in his hands. Even in the pouring rain he resembled some sort of work of art; a work of art that Grantaire felt compelled to create. Filing the idea in his mind and snatching his shoe from the murky depths of the puddle, he continued on his path in order to put his mind at ease, one foot bare on the pavement. The now shivering man turned away as he saw him approaching, disappearing down a side alley; did he really think he could just run from this forever?!  
“Enjolras!” Grantaire shouted just if by any chance he hadn’t actually seen him, trying to appear as normal as possible even while he felt goose bumps rising from his ankle where his shoe ought to be.  
“Not interested, Grantaire!”  
The rain was pouring down now, battering off the pavement and presenting the illusion that they were a conflicted couple in some terrible movie. Grantaire did have the sneaking suspicion, however, that this wasn’t the type of movie that ended happily. The look on the law student’s face was hard to read as the droplets of water obscured his vision, but the way his brow furrowed deeply would have made him seem ugly, if it were possible for anything to do so.  
Grantaire looked up at him defiantly, willing Enjolras to look him in the eye. At least if he did this he might not notice the whole one shoe business. What must Grantaire look like to him?!  
“You don’t have a choice anymore, we need to talk about this!” Whatever ‘this’ was.  
“Talk about what?! As far as I’m concerned nothing happened – nothing that meant anything anyway!” Enjolras all but spat in reply, and the art student tried not to react. That cut deep. Everyone knew their leader could be harsh or unaware of feelings at times, but this was just heartless. Maybe that’s what he really was. Although Grantaire knew that wasn’t quite true from firsthand experience, he’d felt his pulse racing in time with his own that night; and surely that doesn’t happen if something means nothing to you.  
“I know you felt something too! Don’t you dare tell me you didn’t!” The words left his mouth before he even realised they’d been formed, immediately wishing he could retract the last five seconds. Enjolras’ jaw tightened and he glanced down briefly. It didn’t take him long to reply though.  
“Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
Behind the patronising tone Grantaire detected a hint of remorse in the incomparable voice, although that may have been wishful thinking. Enjolras stormed back out into the main street, the art student following him, shoe still in hand, determined not to give up, his temper getting the better of them.  
By now they were the only two in the street, anyone else obviously having made the more sensible decision to seek shelter. He could kiss him now; complete the rom-com cliché. But this wasn’t Four Weddings and a Funeral, or was it Notting Hill – something with Hugh Grant and his dead eyes in it anyway, but that was beside the point. Enjolras was the one with the dead eyes now, and if he even tried to kiss him again it’d earn him a swift punch to the jaw. He did reach for his arm though, like when they’d met in the kitchen for the second time. After a moment’s hesitation, his face almost softening, Enjolras flinched his bright coat sleeve away again as if he’d suddenly realised he was standing too close to a fire.  
“Fine, you can be as childish as you like about it but its not gonna erase it from existence!” Grantaire was beginning to tire of arguing with such a narrow-minded person; something he never thought he’d say about arguing with Enjolras.  
“If anyone finds out...” The golden haired man’s tone was much softer now, and he seemed to be looking at the ground but somehow not noticing the whole one shoe situation.  
“Don’t fucking flatter yourself as if I’d advertise this!” Grantaire’s blood boiled at his comment, the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. The others finding out… He had to make Enjolras understand.  
“You think you’re so much better than us all but really you’re just the same. You’re only human, Enjolras, you’re allowed to feel things!”  
Enjolras bit his lip in a way that made him seem strangely vulnerable, but quickly hardened his features so that once again Grantaire was face to face with the emotionless leader everyone knew and tolerated.  
“Not this.”  
And in a flash of red and black and blonde, he turned on his heel and ran. Literally just ran away from his problems. Grantaire almost laughed at the irony of it all, leaning against the lamp post Enjolras had leant against and wiggling his toes to ward off pneumonia. He slammed his head back against the cold metal, letting out a groan of agony and then a huff of annoyance.  
If Enjolras came running back now, Grantaire was sure he’d knock him for six, more times than one. The rage was bubbling up in his gut, hot and fast, eyebrows in a hard set frown and lips pressed together almost in a grimace. Shaking his head once, the art student drew a deep breath, head leant back against the lamp post and eyes closed. On release, he tried letting go anything he had ever felt towards the stuck up, idiotic, arsehole that was Enjolras; not that it was that easy. At least it was a start though, he thought.  
Opening his eyes - the rain got into them making him frown again – he sighed and headed back to the Musain to pick up his sketchbook before heading home. A long shower and a night of back to back reruns of the X Files were greatly needed.

It was just after midnight when Grantaire switched off the TV and dragged his feet to bed, he'd already nodded off several times on the couch watching Mulder yelling “Scullaay!” more times than one. He knew he should've got an early night but he'd just kept putting it off. Once under the cover though, he was wide awake, his mind suddenly clicking on and whirring through thoughts; typical and annoying. Not as annoying as a certain law student in red however, Grantaire feeling the pang of anger again when their conversation – more like argument - from earlier entered his head.  
Pushing that aside though he rolled onto his side and attempted to get his seven hours. No chance. The storm outside didn't sound like it would die down anytime soon, another reason as to why it took the art student another hour or two to eventually succumb to sleep. Even then it was in short bursts for him, getting woken again every so often; Grantaire would be amazed if there was anything left of Paris when he got up to face the day, the way the rain and the wind sounded against his bedroom window. In fact if he woke up and saw the Wicked Witch of the West fly past he’d just yawn and go back to sleep.  
It was around 2.30, after finally getting into a deeper sleep and dreaming about a cheesecake that was talking to him, when the phone on his bedside table went off, vibrating louder than the ringtone. It took him a couple of seconds to realise what the noise was, the part of him that was still asleep and dreaming thought the cheesecake was making the sound. Upon realisation though, a loud and very annoyed sigh left his mouth.  
"For fucks sake..." Grantaire muttered under his breath, only opening one eye as he leant up to stare at the screen; the bright light made his vision fuzzy.  
At first he’d suspected it to be Eponine; no one else ever phoned him this late, however, he didn't recognise the number. Though if the person was calling at this time then maybe it was important; he answered groggily.  
"Hello?" He hoped his tone came across as not-amused-in-any-way so whoever it was knew how much of a shithead they were at this moment in time. There was silence for a few seconds before the person answered him. "Eh, Grantaire? Umm, can- er, can we talk? I mean, er, can- could you let me in?"  
The art student sat up, the wide awake feeling springing back to him. "Wha- What d'you mean? Who is this?" Then it clicked. He knew the voice. Of course he did. Even though quieter and no way near as confident as usual, he still knew who it belonged to.  
"Enjolras?" Grantaire paused, waiting for a reply. His brain seemed to go into overdrive then, his stomach hit with a bolt of lightning it seemed. Confusion flooded his brain. He had never heard Enjolras use as small a voice as he had then, it didn't suit him, their ‘strong leader’.  
"Yeah, I eh-"  
"Where are you? Wait, you said let me in- Are you...?"  
“I, eh… yeah…”  
With one movement Grantaire was out of bed and padding through the living room to his front door, any anger he’d felt towards Enjolras leaving him as he snatched his keys off the kitchen worktop; this all took him barely a few strides. Once the key was in the lock and turned he realised he was still holding his phone to his ear, Enjolras having said nothing else. Opening the door, the sound of the storm was almost over powering, and Grantaire came face to face with an incredibly sodden, shivering, Enjolras. He was still holding his phone up too, but both lowered them awkwardly.  
They stood staring at each other for what seemed like minutes before the first spoke, Grantaire looking confused and still slightly angry, Enjolras - unusually - worried, even scared, and possibly upset. The art student didn’t really know what to read from the other’s expression, it kept changing.  
"I, eh... Sorry I don't know why I'm here..." Enjolras dropped his gaze and took a step back as if to make his way back down the stairs.  
"Well I sure as hell don't know," Grantaire hadn't aimed for this to sound funny, it just slipped out his mouth, but it seemed to lighten the mood if only a bit. Enjolras stopped and looked back at him, eyes wide, edged with worry or fear; Grantaire still couldn’t tell.  
"Why the- What are you doing here? Wait for fucks sake, the storm, why did you- No, in fact, I tried talking to you today and you just ran away. What the fuck is wrong with-"  
"I don't know, Grantaire, alright?!!”  
There was a pause, filled with angry stares and heavy breathing.  
“I just... Can we talk? I’m r- I wanna talk, ok?"  
Grantaire couldn't say no, Enjolras was freezing and he did not want his death from hypothermia on his hands. "Eh, yeah, yeah come in."  
He stepped aside, allowing the drowned man to enter. Fucking hell this was ridiculous; Enjolras, in his flat, in his actual flat, at half two in the morning... All the time’s the art student had imagined this scenario, but now in the moment of it, it was different. Probably due to why he was here that is.  
The sodden leader had his arms crossed over his plaid shirt; he wasn't even wearing a jacket, christ. For all he was clever and brilliant, Enjolras wasn't half stupid with no common sense sometimes, not to mention his people skills or rather lack of.  
"Eh, sit down, I'll get you a change of clothes... Fucking hell." The last part was said under his breath, but he was sure Enjolras had heard him. He tossed his phone onto his bed then pulled a hoodie, a t-shirt, and some track bottoms from a drawer. Shaking his head, Grantaire went to leave his room again, but stopped in the doorway. Enjolras was on his couch, looking round, but back facing Grantaire and still shivering; he looked so small and unimpressive. Never in a million years would Grantaire have thought of seeing him like this, especially here. Feeling sorry for Enjolras sort of came naturally then, and a twinge of excitement edged its way into Grantaire's stomach. These both were quickly dismissed though; confusion was still taking over the most part of his mind, he had so many questions it was ridiculous.  
"Eh, there you go, bathroom’s just there. And there’s a towel in there if, er… yeah." Grantaire handed over the bundle of clothes as Enjolras nodded. "D'you want tea or something? You need to keep warm, mate."  
Enjolras looked at him in a weird sort of way then, taking the clothes out of his hand’s slowly. "Eh, yeah alright."  
Grantaire nodded, flicking the kettle on and fetching a mug which – in all honestly – hadn’t been washed, but it was three in the morning and, being honest, a cuppa-soup stained mug was the least thing Enjolras deserved, the way he’d acted.  
It felt strange, this sudden atmospheric sense coming over the small apartment; the rain battering down outside, the kettle boiling, and Enjolras getting changed in the bathroom as Grantaire leant against the worktop figuring out what the fuck he should say first, or at all?!  
When Enjolras remerged, he had folded his own clothes and sat them on the back of the sofa, before coming over to stand in the kitchen doorway, hands in the pocket of the hoodie. It was baggy on him, and Grantaire was trying desperately hard not to grin his face off seeing the blonde in his own clothes. He wondered then if this is what he looked like when he woke up; fluffy hair, exhausted expression, lazy-day clothes…  
Handing the cup of tea over to the now dry law student, Grantaire realised he suddenly had no clue how to begin getting onto the subject of ‘them’ and ‘that night’. Conversation between himself and Enjolras was difficult and rare – biggest understatement ever, he thought – at the best of times, but now how the actual fuck were they supposed to discuss this?! Why had Grantaire thought chasing him down the street this afternoon would help, and why now, in the middle of the night, would it make it any easier?! Shit.  
“So, um...” he started, trying to edge his way into the subject gently and postpone any furniture throwing either of them might attempt for as long as possible. After Enjolras failed to speak, he suddenly became aware that the two of them were just kind of standing half in the kitchen and half out – therefore the question that followed didn’t require much thought. “D’you wanna sit down or something?” Grantaire asked, wondering whether or not he’d be turned to stone if he looked the bedraggled looking man directly in the eye. He had expected some sort of reply, but instead Enjolras simply turned away from him and headed for the couch; onto which he threw himself with a fairly audible sigh. This might’ve made Grantaire angry – Enjolras was the one who’d woken him in the middle of the damn night after all – had he not still been so confused.  
He watched as Enjolras took a sip of the tea and then placed the mug down on the table in front of him (for some reason he was sure he wouldn’t touch it again); observing for as long as he dared before deciding that he must have looked considerably creepy. He took a deep breath and attempted to further the conversation – or lack of it.  
Grantaire observed the man opposite him for another few seconds, only to have his gaze met abruptly by an inquisitive pair of eyes. The awkward eye contact that ensued somehow lasted both too long and yet not long enough but, finally, Enjolras let his eyes wander around the room once again; pausing on a shabby canvas hanging above what should have been the fireplace.  
"Did you do that?" He asked almost warily. "Oh, um, yeah I did," Grantaire answered with the same hesitant tone, eager to find out what the world's biggest critic thought of his own work.  
"It's... interesting." Brilliant, the art student couldn't help but think; interesting is basically 'utter shit' in polite terms - but at least Enjolras was trying to be polite. Maybe.  
"Why'd you draw it so blurry?" Their eyes met again, this time not by accident, and Grantaire actually had to think properly before he could answer coherently. Had he been drunk when the canvas was created? Probably, but that wasn't the only reason.  
"Oh yeah, I remember," he started; more for his own reassurance than Enjolras'. "This probably sounds really stupid, but I did it when I moved to the city - so it's kind of like how I saw everything when I first got here and it was all new?"  
"That's not stupid."  
"Eh, right… Well, thanks I guess?" Grantaire settled back into his seat, cheeks burning even though barely anything had been said. He hoped it was dark enough that Enjolras couldn’t see this; the only light in the room was that coming from the kitchen. They were both in for a long night.  
"You got classes in the morning?" Grantaire ventured, trying to keep the tone light. "Yeah, 10AM start so later than usual." Short and to the point.  
Grantaire was grateful he hadn't wanted to be a lawyer. "How about you?" He was still amazed Enjolras was here, and making as much effort as he was.  
"Supposed to have a tutorial at one, but it's not really compulsory so I probably won’t bother to be honest."  
"Wish I had that liberty..." Grantaire could almost hear the tone of contempt in Enjolras' voice and, on any other day, they might've argued about this at length. Tonight was different though - neither one of them eager to upset the other. Still, Grantaire did wonder how long they could stay on this platform of mutual civility before something in one of them (most likely himself) snapped.  
What happened next though, if Grantaire hadn’t had enough shocks already, took him beyond anything else. He was watching bowed blonde curls, nervously at that; Enjolras had his elbows resting on his, hands clasped and head down. It took Grantaire a couple of seconds to realise that, as hands came up and ran through golden hair, pulling on the strands, Enjolras was crying.  
Grantaire didn't know what to do. He was about to go into full on Marius-in-a-stressful-situation mode and he knew he resembled a deer in the headlights right about now, but he had to make some sort of attempt at fixing this; they'd come too far to go back now. He considered going to sit next to Enjolras on the couch, maybe reaching out to pat a shaking shoulder, but thought that might confuse the poor guy even more. Fucking mixed signals. How were they ever going to know where they stood with each other?!  
Enjolras looked up again, staring straight ahead.  
"En- Enjolras..? Are you o-"  
The answer that came - surprisingly quickly - was one formed in anger and fear; Enjolras couldn't help but allow his voice to shake, losing the ability to keep it steady. "Idontfuckingknowgrantaire!"  
The art student had clearly hit a much more sensitive nerve than he’d meant to. Before Grantaire had the chance to say anything else though, the distraught blonde had twisted his fingers into his hair again and begun to speak. Or rather ramble.  
"Look I don't even know anymore ok!" he repeated, "and what is it to you anyway?" He snapped, becoming more and more agitated as his chest heaved, and Grantaire felt his stomach pang as confusion flooded him.  
Since the moment he had met this golden god of a law student nearly two years ago, Grantaire had yearned for his attention, wanting more than just the occasional patronising comment or argument with him. But never, in all the times he had mulled over such a moment in his mind, would he ever have pictured this happened. Enjolras, pouring his heart out in his living room, and fucking crying!?! He half expected Combeferre to give up reading next...  
A frown formed on his forehead as he listened, Enjolras continuing on his – dare Grantaire say – emotion filled rant?  
"I'm just so… sick of p-people speculating about me!" He continued, fighting to control the increasing number of breaks in his voice. "Everything this year has just been so much. The internship, the shitty protests, exams that I'm gonna fucking fail..." he trailed off, Grantaire felt like scoffing but refrained; the only thing Enjolras would come close to failing was - well he couldn't even imagine!  
"Enjolras look it's ok-"  
"Please don't - how can you have any idea what's going on in my head right now?! You've no way of knowing if I'm fucking ok!!"  
"I just mean, this sounds ridiculous," Grantaire was about to say the thing, the thing that you're never supposed to say, before he knew it the thing had been said, "I know how you feel."  
He cringed internally as he prepared for the onslaught. Surprisingly though, Enjolras just sighed; rubbing a hand across his face - and if that hand just so happened to wipe away some fresh tears then Grantaire knew better than to comment. He really did just look like a tired student in need of a hug and a good nights sleep. They hadn't come anywhere near the hugging stage yet, and Grantaire didn't fancy his chances of not being thrown out a window at 3AM. Kind words would have to suffice, for now at least.  
"I've felt like this before," he started gently, accepting when Enjolras once again refused to meet his eyes, "like no one can possibly understand what's going on in your head?" He continued hesitantly, being careful not to patronise. "Honestly, just trust me, I know I really do. And yeah I know, why the hell would you trust me, right? But some people do understand... I do."  
Those last two words were barely audible and, with no way of knowing whether or not they'd been heard, all that was left to do was hope they weren't taken the wrong way.  
"I just get these, these feelings sometimes," Was this it? Was Enjolras about to bare his soul? Surely not... Grantaire didn’t know if he could take anymore if he was being honest with himself. What would he say? How would he comfort him if he had to?  
"D’you know what no, this is bloody ridiculous, I'm not gonna discuss this with you."  
"I'm not pushing you to tell me anything you don't want to tell me, alright? Just remember that you showed up at my door at two in the fucking morning, so there must be more to it than this?!"  
The room bristled with things unsaid for a moment, until Grantaire broke the silence again. "Look, Enjolras, we don't have to go into detail or anything. Just know that I’ll listen if you want me to, and nothing you feel is ever stupid, or wrong..." a pause, before he added in an attempt to lighten the tone, "unless it's like a desire for world domination or something, I wouldn't recommend that." The man opposite sniffed - somehow adorably - and a smile threatened to tease up the corners of his mouth.  
“That night…” Enjolras was suddenly sat perfectly still, voice barely audible despite the flat being deathly quiet around them. “I don’t re- I mean, I wasn’t- Fuck…”  
If the atmosphere wasn’t so tense then Grantaire might have chuckled at how lost for words the great Enjolras was then, rubbing the back of his neck again.  
“I was drunk, alright? Like, way more drunk than I’ve ever been, you have to remember that okay, I didn’t kno-”  
“Eh, don’t even try pulling that card, Enjolras, you knew exactly what you were doing.” Grantaire said this in a more taking-the-mick tone rather than a snappy one; he was getting somewhere with Enjolras now, he wasn’t going to lose it by being an idiot. A loud sigh before, “Fine, I remember it, alright?! I remember how it-”  
Felt. He remembered.  
“Is that why you wouldn’t talk to me? ‘Cause you remember and, what, you’re… embarrassed?”  
“I don’t- I mean…” Again Enjolras was lost for what to say in reply.  
“Look, Enjolras, I’m not saying anything, alright? No one will know, yeah?” Grantaire attempted a smile at him, trying to secure Enjolras’ trust.  
“It’s not just that… But yeah, thanks.” A small version of Grantaire’s smile was returned to him. He nodded.  
“Er, can… can I ask what it is then? What else it is?” Grantaire asked this slowly and cautiously, scared he’d tread on a land mine asking. Now Enjolras was thinking, pondering his answer, now looking more calm and collected – more himself again.  
“We’ve never really spoken… I mean properly, I know we’ve disagreed a lot. And I’m sorry if that’s made you think anything about me,” Enjolras said this last sentence rather fast, and did – Grantaire admitted - look apologetic, sitting up a bit taller, “or that I don’t want you around or anything…” Grantaire could feel his heart pounding, certain his face was getting hotter with every word Enjolras said.  
“Well, I mean, that’s not true. I know you think I hate you, but-”  
“Wait, I don’t think that-”  
“Grantaire, your best friend is Eponine, and mine is Combeferre, and they’re a couple. Me and ‘Ferre do actually talk about other things besides uni and all that protest stuff,” the blonde almost chuckled at the look on Grantaire’s face then before continuing. “Anyway, what I mean is- Erm, I- I don’t hate you, Grantaire.”  
Now they were looking at each other again, Enjolras raising his eyebrows ever so slightly under his fringe and Grantaire almost hearing the click inside his brain. It took a couple of seconds but Enjolras’ eyes, still slightly red, widened then as if he’d suddenly realised how long they’d been talking (and what he’d just said) and how late – or rather early – it was. He stood up, beginning to speak as he did so, rubbing his neck, “Eh, god, I should be going,” he did a nervous laugh, sniffing, “Umm, look, Grantaire-”  
“Enjolras, don’t go, alright?” Grantaire hastily said the next bit so as not to sound as if he was suggesting anything, “I mean it’s still bucketing down out there, and besides it’s like really late, or actually early.”  
“I- I should be going to be honest…”  
Grantaire chuckled, “Look, I can take the sofa, honestly it’s fine. Go kip in my bed for a few hours before you have your tutorial, yeah? It’s the least I can do.”  
He chanced a smile in Enjolras’ direction, hoping that wasn’t too much; though after all they’d discussed he didn’t see how a small smile would be much of a problem. Thankfully for him, this gesture was returned by the law student. “Eh, you sure though? It’s alright, I mean I can take the sof-”  
“Nope, nope! Go, bed, now.” Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ shoulders and marched him to his bedroom, amazed at how easily led the blonde was being. “D’you need anything or.. can I go the fuck to sleep ‘cause I’m bloody knackered.” Shit. That probably pushed it too far. Stupid Grantaire.  
The blonde shook his head, glancing his eyes about the shabby and – Christ, could he not have tidied up?! – bomb site of a room. “Sorry, it’s kinda a tip, just shove my stuff off the bed… Umm, you know where the kitchen is if you want a drink or anything,” the awkward feeling was creeping back as they both stood there, not sure how to continue, “Eh, night then.”  
Enjolras nodded before Grantaire turned, shutting the door behind him. He paused before walking over and falling onto the couch, frowning with a smirk on his face. What the fuck had just happened!?! He covered his face with his hands, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation had been; still was, come to think of it.  
Enjolras was currently lying in his bed, trying to sleep, after a fucking heartfelt break down confession in front of Grantaire?! The world was falling to pieces, either that or any minute the art student would wake up and he’d have to face real-life grouchy, fucking annoying as hell Enjolras.  
Silence flooded the flat after so long of listening to Enjolras talk – really talk – and it still had the edge of that awkwardness about it. Both men knew that the other was still awake, lying there thinking about what had just happened and been exchanged between them, and wondering what it would be like after this…  
Change and an understanding had occurred; that there was doubt about. How much change though? That was another question, one which Grantaire fell asleep trying to decode. It wasn’t until he heard a click that he awoke from his sleep.  
Enjolras was stood at the front door; it was half open and he still had Grantaire’s t shirt and track bottoms on. He had turned to look at the sleeping – though not any longer – art student after opening the door; slightly expectant and sort of surprised look on his exquisite face. The red blotchiness was gone from his cheeks, swept away by sleep’s healing, even if it was only for a couple of hours.  
“I didn’t want to wake you, sorry…” he was still stood frozen at the door, as if scared to move away from it but also further out into the morning. Grantaire rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up for Enjolras’ sake. “Nah, you’re fine, don’t worry about it.”  
Truth be told, the sight of Enjolras would wake him up even if he hadn’t slept for ten years. Not that he let this show, not yet.  
“Is it alright I keep these on? My stuff still isn’t dry properly,” was that a smile Grantaire detected on the law student’s face? This thought was brief due to his quick answer, trying to please, “Yeah, yeah of course! No problem, just get them back to me whenever.” He nodded, looking at his phone for the time. Still early-ish.  
The rain had subsided slightly thankfully, not that Grantaire intended on seeing the outside of his apartment until much later in the day. Damn Enjolras for being here and waking him up and- ah fuck it, Grantaire didn’t mean that and he knew it.  
“Did you get coffee or something? There’s stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry…?” Grantaire had stood up and was now scratching his head, yawning and stretching as he did this.  
“Eh, no I best be going, I need to sort stuff out before this lecture thing. But thanks.”  
Grantaire nodded his ‘ah right ok’, Enjolras now opening the door wider and stepping outside. The art student padded over and leant against the open door slightly, arm up by his head. The blonde turned to face him then, bundle of clothes in his arms, looking scruffy, only slightly tired considering the night he’d had, and – could it be – happier if not content?  
“Listen, Grantaire, I never said last night, eh… thanks, for listening to me, I mean, I know we’ve never really…” these words started to trail off, but Grantaire cut in anyway, shaking his head.  
“No, Enjolras, listen it’s fine, honestly. Eh, I’m glad we’ve done this,” he gestured between them, “Heaven knows we needed it.” This got another small smile out of the law student, the other grinning as they held each other’s gaze for a few seconds.  
“Eh, well, see you later...” Grantaire couldn’t tell if this was a question or just a kind goodbye remark. Either way, he was fine with whatever bit of fond farewell Enjolras threw at him; not that he wanted to say goodbye to him just yet. A morning with Enjolras would have suited him just fine…  
“Yeah, see you…”  
Closing the door seemed a better option than watching Enjolras walking away down the stairs, so Grantaire turned back to his, once again, empty apartment. Upon entering his room, he wasn’t surprised when he found his bed all made up and tidy, phone sat on the bedside table, though he still shook his head and smiled to himself.  
“Enjolras, Enjolras…”  
Disappointed to find his sheets didn’t smell like the bloody beaut of a law student, Grantaire crashed down into them and succumbed to another few hours of decent sleep, before being woken once again, but this time by a text from Eponine.  



	11. Chapter 11

Grantaire missed him. This was ridiculous. It hadn't even been two days and yet he fucking missed him, even if that had been the first properly civilised conversation they'd ever shared. He just couldn't wait to see him again - hoping that their relation- whatever it was - could only improve from here on in. It was Enjolras' own doing really - he was the one who had turned up after all. Although Grantaire did award himself some of the credit - if he hadn't persevered to break down some of the wall which had separated them for so long now, they'd still be sitting in his living room staring at the walls!

He laughed as he thought about the aftermath of the strange night: Eponine had – surprise, surprise - spotted Enjolras on campus in what could only be described as a hoodie that made up a quarter of Grantaire's wardrobe (poor artists can't afford that many clothes). Of course, all hell had broken loose.

Before he could even take in the contents of the first message properly - it was still early to be fair, and for all he knew the last night had all been one big dramatic dream - she'd sent another three; each more demanding than the last.

He decided to ignore that one altogether, assuming that by people she meant Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and probably also Bahorel and Bossuet too. He knew about that bet and it had to do with Enjolras' private life, not his thank fuck. Although there probably was one going relating to him too, they were just great friends like that.

If he didn't know her so well, all the caps lock would have frightened him.

He considered dialling her number right away, but wanted to get in at least one before she proceeded to interrogate him for every single sliver of gossip (which she did, of course).

He didn't actually get the chance to call her, though, as no sooner had he pressed send an incoming call flashed up on his screen. She'd greeted him with an oh so casual, "Too right I am, now spill!", and he knuckled down and prepared to recount the whole story without hyperventilating. He might have managed it. Just. But she certainly sounded like she’d go into cardiac arrest as she giggled and screamed down the phone numerous sentences including the words ‘fuck’, ‘holy hell’, and ‘asdjhsdfkl’.

Now however he had his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, sauntering down to the Musain for a group bevy. Excitement plagued his insides, making the smile on his face stick like glue, even when he tried to control it as he pulled open the door and headed to the usual group table. Of course Eponine was the first to catch his eye and automatically gave him an all-knowing smug look.

“Grantaire, m’boy! What brings you hear on this fine night?” Bahorel raised his glass as the artist pulled a chair out and took a seat. “Well, I was hoping to spend the evening with you fine people, if you’ll have me. And listen to some class act karaoke, of course.” The grin spread across Grantaire’s face again, though little to his friend’s knowledge it because of the golden haired law student who, funnily enough, had just came in the door.

Taking his jacket of, Grantaire just happened to turn to see if ‘Chetta was working the bar that night, when Enjolras passed him - and the scent of his aftershave hit him like a breath of fresh air. The others wouldn’t know though; Grantaire was being discreet, hiding behind the menu stood up in the centre of their table.Come to think of it, he'd never noticed they even had menus - when did this happen?

"Hey, ‘Chetta?" His friend was indeed working, and as always she had Joly and Bossuet with her, one cleaning glasses while the other stacked them. "Are these new?" he enquired, holding the menu up, partly just to have something to say so no one would notice that the mere scent of Enjolras had made his head fog up and partly out of genuine curiosity.

"You're kidding, right? You helped me design them!" Musichetta replied, raising her eyebrows. "God you worry me, Grantaire!" Joly said in earnest, running a tea towel over a sparkling glass for the millionth time just to make sure it was definitely clean.

"Everything worries you." Bossuet replied, nudging him with his hip and taking the glass with a wink. "I think something must be... distracting you," Grantaire heard Eponine mutter in his ear as she came to sit next to him. He aimed a quick kick to her shin which wound up connecting with Jehan's knee instead. Although, as he could tell there was no reason for it to be meant for him, naturally he didn't even wince, just continued smiling sweetly as he pleated Cosette's hair. Do no harm but take no shit, that was Prouvaire's motto (he even had it painted on his bedroom wall while they were at school, if Grantaire remembered correctly). Grantaire often wished he could live by those words too, but he hadn't quite mastered the balance as yet.

It was only now that Grantaire realised almost the entire group had turned up tonight - a rare occasion of late what with the increasing importance of uni commitments. Combeferre was present, although currently unavailable as he'd been rushed to a table next to the group’s and into what seemed like an important conversation with Enjolras before he'd even had the chance to say hi, the only ones missing were Marius, Feuilly and Courfeyrac who apparently were: sleeping, working, and sleeping, respectively, and would maybe make an appearance later on.

"He looks nice, doesn't he?" Eponine asked innocently, glancing over to the table at which Combeferre and Enjolras sat. "Who? Your fiancé? I've always thought so, watch your back Ep or we'll be eloping before you know it!" He teased, well aware of who she was actually referring to. She wasn't wrong though, Enjolras did look exceedingly good - even just in old jeans and a hoody - in fact especially in just old jeans and a hoody.

Grantaire was about to say something totally nonchalant about this when Bossuet piped up from behind the bar, above the rabble of all the tables in the place combined. "So, R, when's the next gig - it's been aaages and I can tell the barricade misses you!" This seemed to spark everyone's attention, causing Grantaire to go slightly pink as even Enjolras looked up from his conversation to find out the answer - and obviously turning him from pink to red in the process as their eyes met.

“Eeehm, when d’you want me?" He stammered a reply, noticing a few seconds into his question that he hadn't yet broken the gaze held with the icy blue eyes across the tables.

The three behind the bar, as if on telepathic cue, gathered then into a mock group huddle, pretending to discuss when would be appropriate for a few sing songs on Grantaire’s part. This got some laughs out of the amis, though Grantaire was still cautiously focussed on the blonde staring back at him.

His eyes seemed to be trying to say something and, although Grantaire hadn't known him personally nearly long enough to learn to read what his looks meant, he thought he understood what Enjolras’ message was. Later. They'd talk later, everything would become clear later. He'd kiss him later, hold him later, probably leave him later - but Grantaire couldn't bring himself to worry about this now. The air was abuzz with possibility. It was an odd sensation being this intoxicated by someone, and one he definitely wasn't used to. It was as if Enjolras' presence acted as a drug to him, surging through his veins and to his heart and making him feel like he was flying. Grantaire had never been in love before, but he could imagine it felt something like this. Oh god, had he been staring this whole time?!

He averted his gaze to Eponine who was naturally loving this, but not before he'd caught Enjolras grinning for a split second - obviously before he realised where he was and whose company he was in. Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta disbanded their little huddle then, going back to their glass cleaning and pint pulling.

"Whenever you fancy it to be honest, it's been dead in here these past few months!"

"Some of us have actually been studying? You know, for exams?" Combeferre answered, looking fairly stressed.

As they all began to drift back into their respective conversations, Grantaire glanced at his phone. Only 9pm, not too late yet, there was still time. The law student didn't seem to be looking anymore though. As Eponine told him she'd be right back, heading over to her fiancé and distracting him with a passionate kiss which left Enjolras staring at his feet uncomfortably, Grantaire sighed and headed for the bar. He'd only just picked up another beer, Courfeyrac taking to the stage to belt out ‘Power of Love’ by Jennifer Rush, before Musichetta handed him some fairy lights covered in sellotape.

"Be a doll and put these up on the roof for me would you, R? I need to go do a once over of the club before opening and I said these'd be done!" He looked at her tired face and gave her a reassuring smile before taking the bundle of lights. "Course I will, ‘Chetta. Just go sit down for five minutes at least will you?" He actually found himself thankful for this task, despite it meaning he was alone with his thoughts once again. Thoughts of what the hell might happen between himself and Enjolras now they’d gotten past the awkward breaking the ice conversation. Thoughts of what he wanted to do to Enjolras and what Enjolras might have in mind… Christ.

But he went by Musichetta’s request, with the promise of possibility. Damn Ep and Jehan for their obsession with musical theatre; under normal circumstances he'd never have known that line from Rogers & Hammerstein's Cinderella!!

Climbing the stairs, one thought in particular seemed to plague his mind - powerful enough to drown out any about musicals and getting new friends. He wound the fairy lights quickly around the railings and anything else he could find, his paint-speckled hands seizing up slightly with the biting evening air; surely it should've been warming up by now! Flicking the on switch, he worried when the lights flickered, but breathed a sigh of relief when they finally sputtered to life. Throwing one hand into his pocket while the other became claw-like around the beer bottle, he stood back to admire his handiwork before peering upwards to the night sky.

Another night where Grantaire so desperately wished the lights of Paris were not so harsh; the stars would look beautiful against that deep dark sky, their scattered brilliance shining out until morning. Instead though, he was left with the twinkle of his fairy lights donning the rooftop getaway, as he leant against the wide wall, setting his beer bottle down as he adjusted his beanie. Breathing in the clearer than downstairs air – everyone would still be in the pub before the club opened - he grabbed the beer once again. It wasn't long though before the bottle in his hand was empty and a voice sounded behind him.

"This space taken?" Grantaire's heart leapt into his mouth, whirling round to face his surpriser.

It had been just over thirty six hours since he and Enjolras had last been alone together, but that now felt like days ago as the golden haired man stood there in front of him then. "Jesus Christ, Enjolras, how many times are you gonna surprise me in the space of a few days?!" Grantaire chuckled, turning back round to gaze out over the rooftops. He heard Enjolras approach, leaning like himself against the rooftop wall.

"Eh, beer?" He held out another bottle to Grantaire, waggling it slightly before the artist took it. "Cheers," the two clinked their bottles together before taking a mouthful.

It was silent for a good number of seconds before either worked out what to say. And when they did they both spoke together in a ramble. Grantaire chuckled again, "You go first." Enjolras nodded. "I, eh, didn't really say thanks yesterday morning for... you know, listening and everything, so... Eh, thank you... Grantaire..."

Two Enjolras encounters in a couple of days; one, ridiculously and emotionally unreal, the second, looking as if it might be more bearable. Grantaire smiled small, "Honestly, Enjolras, it's fine. What are frie-" He stopped short then; could he say 'friends'? Technically they didn't class as friends, but, what else were they? Acquaintances? Was that all?

"What are friends for..." Grantaire finished slowly and quietly, taking another gulp of beer, stared at his hands, a sullen look having come over him. He didn't know if Enjolras was trying to change the subject or - surely not - lighten the mood, but one second he was standing quietly next to Grantaire, the next he'd sat his beer down and was climbing up on the wall.

"En- Enjolras, what you doing?! You'll fall, fucks sake!" Grantaire wanted to grab his legs or something but the 'this is Enjolras' thought was at the forefront of his head still. Before he could do anymore though, Enjolras was sat down, drinking his beer again... on the edge of the rooftop wall.

"Well, you joining me or what?" He looked round at the baffled art student; was this normal out-of-sight-alcohol-drinking Enjolras? If it was then where the fuck had he been hiding all these years? Without even a shrug Grantaire was up next to him, if slightly hesitantly going along with the golden haired one. They sat like that until their, as Grantaire put it, arses were frozen off from the wall. But even then they still sat there, looking down onto the street below and talking - though at first very cautiously, unsure what the other would say in return. It was close to midnight when Grantaire shivered and drew his hoodie closer around himself, turning to check the door hadn't blown shut (despite there being no wind). On his turn back around he glanced at Enjolras, who - catching him off guard, yet again - was looking back at him. There was a sort of determined look hinting in the corners of those blue pools. It took a couple of seconds for Grantaire to realise he was staring, with Enjolras doing the exact same.

"If it was the end of the world," His tone was low and calm, slightly rough from the night air, "would you..." Grantaire glanced down at his feet dangling over the edge of the roof. "What?" Enjolras' eyes were focused on the messy curls sticking out from under the artist's beanie. He'd worn his deep red one tonight, Enjolras’ colour, maybe subconsciously because he hadn't realised until he'd reached the Musain and caught sight of himself in the glass. "Eh..." Grantaire's laugh was nervous before he dared ask, "would you- I mean, d'you think we'd..." A sigh sounded through the Parisian night.

"Could this," he gestured gingerly between himself and Enjolras, "happen?" Shit. He'd actually spoken the words which, for months, nearly years, he'd wanted to say. Now they were out in the open air, heard by actual Enjolras. Fucking fuck, why had he said that!?! Grantaire went back to staring at his hands, another empty bottle in them. Relevant. "Would you want it to?" Grantaire's head snapped up for his eyes to lock onto the shocking blue ones staring back at him. Had he heard right? Even if he hadn't he nodded anyway. "Yeah..."

Was this it? Finally some physical contact with Enjolras which might actually really mean something, maybe. Enjolras seemed to have leant in yes, but his expression looked suddenly like a mixture of confusion, worry and uncertainty, if there was such a mix.

"I, eh... I don't- I mean, I don't know what..." Enjolras kept rearranging his hands, verging on fidgeting. Grantaire smiled at him, setting down the beer bottle, and shaking his head slightly as he also leant in. "It's ok, Enjolras," he nodded, trying to show that he didn't mind how Enjolras came into this situation - unprepared, scared, nervous, whatever it was. He wanted Enjolras to feel comfortable, then he hopefully wouldn’t run away screaming.

"Do you want this?" Grantaire didn't want to put pressure on him, even though this would likely only be a kiss if that. But it was Enjolras, and he knew the guy obviously didn't have a clue what he was doing with this kind of thing (when sober at least); who could forget New Year...? Grantaire felt like he might go into cardiac arrest when Enjolras - beautiful, there-with-him Enjolras - nodded, not taking his eyes off him for a second.

Reaching across, Grantaire slid fingers into golden curls, thumb resting on Enjolras' cheek as the pair drew ever closer. It was right up till the last moment that Grantaire kept his eyes open, not wanting to miss the expression on the other man's face, seeing when Enjolras closed his before doing the same.

Soft. And oh my god. The first words that Grantaire's mind gave to him during that kiss. No messy hands getting everywhere, no drunken accidents which would make it awkward afterwards. Just pure bliss. Everything from the slow and smooth start, to the feeling of hair between his fingers, to the hitch in Enjolras' breath when Grantaire pulled him closer, to the taste of beer on their tongues... Everything was how a first kiss - a proper first kiss - should be.

The space between them when they separated was cool, though Grantaire could feel the heat on his back when before he had been nearly shivering. The smile on Enjolras' stupid face then was enough to send Grantaire over the edge, and to be honest if he didn't get off the edge of this roof soon he might try ripping Enjolras' shirt off then and there, lose his balance and do just that.

"Hold on.." Biting his lip, Grantaire swung his legs back round so he was back stood on the roof. Enjolras turned his head, "What are you-"

"Turn round so I can kiss you again." Enjolras obliged, sending one of the bottles flying down into the street below. Grantaire brought his hands up to hold that exquisite face barely inches from him, launching them back into the kiss, full force this time. He could feel Enjolras edging himself closer, wrapping his legs round Grantaire's thighs. Fuck me, he thought, bringing his hands down to hold Enjolras' waist, fingers digging into his sides. The little noises being made by the man he was holding made Grantaire smile into the kiss as it got ever more intimate. He grabbed his hips, trying to pull Enjolras even closer to himself. The golden haired man had his arms wrapped round Grantaire's neck now, making it easy for the latter to lift him from the wall so he was really holding him, Enjolras' legs now round his waist. To look at anyone would think Enjolras, slim yet toned as he was, to be not the easiest to hold. To Grantaire however? Piece of cake.

"The others... are gonna... be wondering... where we are..." Grantaire said between kisses, Enjolras moving his kisses onto the artist’s neck, sending a wave through his body. Either Enjolras was a bloody fast learner or he watched a lot of movies...

"Fuck the others," came the hasty reply, making Grantaire grin into the kisses now being placed on his lips again, as he sank down to sit with his back against the wall, Enjolras straddling him on his lap.


End file.
